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THE 



PLAYS 



OP 



PHILIP MASSINGER. 



ADAPTED 



FOR FAMILY READING, AND THE USE OF 

YOUNG PERSONS, 

BY THR OMIRRION OF OBJRCTIONABLK PAMAORB. 



VOL. II. 



LONDON • 

JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE-STREET. 

MDCCCXXX. 



LONDON: 

P&IVTSD BY THOMAS DAVI80K, WHITETBIABS. 



CONTENTS. 



Page 

Tmc Duke of Milan . . 1 

The Citt Madam .100 

The Ukwatural Combat , 213 

The Picture ..... 2G9 

Selections from the Roman Actor . • 361 



161727 



THE 



DUKE OF MILAN. 



i VOL. II. 



B 



k 



The Duke of Milak.] Of this tragedy there are two 
edhionfl in ^piarto ; the first, which is very correct, and now 
very rare, bears date 1623 ; the other, of little value, 1638. It 
does not appear in the Office-book of the licenser; from which^ 
we may be pretty certain that it was among the author's 
earliest performances. 

Massinger has strangdy perverted the few historical facts on 
which he touches, and brought together events considerably 
distant in time. When the French king invaded Italy in 
1525, Sfona was on the side of the emperor — in fact, the 
French began by an incursion into the Milanese, and the siege 
of the capital, which they continued, at intervals, till their 
rout before Pavia. In the following year, indeed, the duke 
of Milan entered into a league with i^rancis, who had now 
rmined his liberty, against the emperor, and was driven out 
ofhis duchy, which he did not recover till 1530, when he pre. 
sented himsdf before Charles^ at Bologna, but not in the way 
described by Massinger, for he abjectly surrendered all his rights 
to the emperor, who reinstated him in them, on his agreeing 
to certain stipulations. The duke is named Ludovico in the 
list of dramatis personae ; and it is observable that Massinger 
has entered with great accuracy into the vigorous and active 
character of that prince : he, however, had long been dead, and 
Francis Sforza, the real agent in this play, was little capable of 
the spirited part allotted to him. The Italian writers term 
him a weak and irresolute prince, the sport of fortune, and the 
victim of indecision. 

In justice to Massinger, it should be observed, that he 
appears aware of the distinction here noticed, and probably 
also of the fabulous nature of his materials, for, in the list of 
dramatis persons, Ludovico Sforza is called a supposed duke of 
3iilan. 

The character of Sforza himself is strongly conceived. His 
passionate fondness for Marcelia — ^his sudden rage at her 
apparent coolness — his resolute renunciation of her — his speeds 
repentance, and fretful impatience of her absence— his vehenie** 
defence of her innocence — his quick and destructive vengcan^ 
against her, upon a false assertion of her dishonour, and b 

b2 



J>roie8tation8, and mad embraces of her dead body, show the 
(Dree of- dotage and bate in their extremes. His actions are 
wild and ungovemed, and his whole life (as he says) is made 
up of frenzy. 

The remaining part of the plot is horn Josephus*s History 
of the Jews, lib. zv. ch. 4 ; an interesting story, which has 
been told in many languages, and more than once in our own. 

The action of this piece is highly animating and interesting ; 
and its connexion, at the very opening, with an important 
passage of histoiy, procures for it at once a decided attention. 
This is well maintained by strong and rapid alternations of 
fortune, till the catastrophe is matured by the ever-working 
vengeance of Francisco. Even here, the author has continued 
a novelty of interest little expected by the reader ; and the late- 
appearance of the injured Eugenia throws a fresh emotion into 
the conclusion of the play, while it explains a considerable part 
of the plot, with wliich, indeed, it is essentially connected. 

In the over-weening passion of Sforza for his wife, Massinger 
has described, in the Duke of Milan, an incident which he 
afterwards repeated in the Picture. 



TO 

THE BIGHT HONOURiiBLE, 

AND MUCH ESTEEMED FOB HER HIGH BIBTH, BUT 
MOBE ADMIBED FOB HEB VIBTUE, 

THE LADY KATHERINE STANHOPE, 

WIFE TO PHILIP, LOBD STANHOPE, 
BABON OF SHELFOBD. 

MADAM, 

If I were not most assured that works of this nature have 
found both patronage and protection amongst the greatest 
princesses of Italy, and are at this day cherished by persons 
most eminent in our kingdom, I should not presume to offer 
these my weak and imperfect labours at the altar of your 
favour. Let the example of others, more knowing, and more 
experienced in this kindness (if my boldness offend), plead my 
pardon ; and the rather, since there is no other means left me 
(my misfortunes having cast me on this course) to publish to 
the world (if it hold the least good opinion of me) that I am 
ever your ladyship^s creature. Vouchsafe, therefore, with the 
never-failing clemency of your noble disposition, not to con- 
temn the tender of liis duty, who, while he is, will ever be 

An humble servant to your 

Ladyship, and yours, 

PHILIP MASSINGER. 



DRAMATIS PERSONiE. 

LuDovico Sforza, tttppoted Duke of Milan. 
Francisco, his especial favourite. 
TiBERIO, > ^^ -^. ^^ j^ 
hTEPHANO, S '' 

Graccho, a creature q^ Mariana. 

aKK., \ --«-• 

Charles, the emperor, 

Pescara, an imperialist., but a friend to Sforza. 

Hernando, 1 

Medina, > captains to the- emperor. 

Alphonso, ) 

Three Gentlemen. 

Fiddlers. 

Jin Officer. 

Two Doctors. Two Couriers. 



Marcelia, the duchess^ wife to Sforza. 

Isabella, mother to Sforza. 

Mariana, wife to Francisco, and sister to Sforza. 

Eugenia, sister to Francisco. 

A Gentlewoman. 

Guards^ Servants, Attendants. 

SCENE, for the first and second acts, in Milan ; during part 
of the third, in the Imperial Camp near Pavia ; the rest of 
the play, in Milan, and its neighbourhood. 



THE 



DUKE OF MILAN. 



ACT I. SCENE I. 

Milan. An outer Room in the Castle^. 

Enter Graccho, Julio^ and Giovanni, with 

Flagons. 

Grac. Take every man his flagon: give the 
oath 
To all you meet ; I am this day the state-drunkard, f 
I am sure against my will ; and if you find 
A man at ten that 's sober, he 's a traitor. 
And, in my name, arrest him. 

Jul, Very good, sir : 
But, say he be a sexton ? 

Grac. If the bells 
Ring out of tune*, as if the street were burning. 
And he cry, ' Tis rare music ! bid him sleep : 

* Milan, An outer Room in the Cagtle.'\ The old copies 
have no distiiiction of scenery. I have ventured to supply it, 
in oonfonnity to the modem mode of printing Shakspeare, and 
to consult the ease of the general reader. — Giffgrd. 

• Out of tune^ &c] i. e. backward: the usual signal of 
alarm, on the breaking out of fires.— .Giffgrd. 



8 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT I. 

'Tis a sign he has ta'en his liquor; and if you meet 
An officer preaching of sobriety. 
Unless he read it in Geneva print'. 
Lay him by the heels. 

Jul. But think you 'tis a fault 
To be found sober ? 

Grac. It is capital treason ; 
Or, if you mitigate it, let such pay 
Forty crowns to the poor : but give a i^ension 
To all the magistrates you find singins catches. 
Or their wives dancing ; for the courtiers reeling, 
And the duke himself, I dare not say distemper'd^. 
But kind, and in his tottering chair carousing. 
They do the country service. If you meet 
One that eats bread, a child of ignorance. 
And bred up in the darkness of no drinking. 
Against his will you may initiate him 
In the true posture ; though he die in the taking 
His drench, it skills not^ : what 's a private man. 
For the public honour! We've nought else to 

think on. 
And so, dear friends, copartners in my travails, 
V. Drink hard; and let the health run through the city. 
Until it reel again, and with me cry. 
Long live the duchess ! 

Enter Tiberio and Stephano. 

Jul. Here are two lords ; — what think you ? 
Shall we give the oath to them ? 
Grac, Fie ! no : I know them^ 

> Unlets he read it in Geneva prinU^ Alluding to the 
spirituous liquor so called.— M. Mason. 
* Distemper^ dA L c intoxicated. 
3 // skiiU not] It matters not. 



SC. I. THE DUKE OF MILAK. 9 

You need not swear tbem; your lord^ by his 

patent^ 
Stands bound to take bis roused Long live the 
ducbess ! [^Ea^eunl Grac. Jul. and Gio. 

Steph, Tbe cause of tbis? but yesterday tbe 
court 
Wore tbe sad livery of distrust and fear ; 
No smile^ not in a buffoon to be seen^ 
Or common jester : tbe Great Duke bimself 
Had sorrow in bis face ! wbicb^ Waited on 
By bis motber, sister^ and bis fairest ducbess^ 
Dispersed a silent mourning tbrougb all Milan ; ^ 
As if some great blow bad been given tbe state^ 
Or were at least expected. 

Tib. Stepbano^ 
I know as you are noble^ you are bonest^ 
And capable of secrets of more weigbt 
Tban now I sball deliver. If tbat Sforza, 
Tbe present duke, (tbougb bis wbole life batb been 
But one continued pilgrimage tbrougb dangers, 
Affrigbts, and borrors, wbich bis fortune, guided 
By bis strong judgment, still batb overcome) 
Appears now sbaken, it deserves no wonder : 
All tbat bis youtb batb laboured for, tbe barvest 
Sown by bis industry ready to be reap'd too. 



> Rouseyl i. e. a drinking bout. ]\Ir. GiiFord conceives, 
that rouse and carouse, like vye and revi/e, are but the recipro- 
catioD of the same action, and must, therefore, be derived from 
the same source. A rouse was a large glass, in which a health 
was given, the drinking of which by the rest of the party formed 
a carouse. But Dr. Nares objects tbat there is a want of 
analogy to justify forming carouse thus from rouse; besides, 
carouse is clearly from the French, and rouse immediately from 
the German rusch. 



10 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT I. 

Being now at stake ; and all his hopes confirm'd. 
Or lost for ever. 

Stepk, I know no such hazard : 
His guards are strong and sure^ his coffers full ; 
The people well affected ; and so wisely 
His provident care hath wrought^ that though war 

rages 
In most parts of our western worlds there is 
No enemy near us. 

Tib. Dangers, that we see 
To threaten ruin, are vnth ease prevented ; 
But those strike deadly that come unexpected : 
The lightning is far off, yet, soon as seen. 
We may behold the terrible effects 
That it produceth. But I '11 help your knowledge, 
And make his cause of fear familiar to you. 
The wars so long continued between 
The emperor Charles, and Francis, the French king, 
fl&ye interess'd, in either's cause, the most 
Of the Italian princes ; among which, Sforza, 
As one of greatest power, was sought by both ; 
But with assurance, having one his friend. 
The other lived his enemy. 

Steph, 'Tis true: 
And 'twas a doubtful choice. 

Tib* But he, well knowing. 
And hating too, it seems, the Spanish pride. 
Lent his assistance to the king of France : 
Which hath so far incensed the emperor. 
That all his hopes and honours are embark'd 
With his great patron's fortune. 

Sfeph, Which stands fair. 
For aught I yet can hear. 

Tib, But should it change. 



8C. I. THE DUKE OF MILAK^ 1 I 

The duke 's undone. They have drawn to the field 
Two royal armies^ full of fiery youth ; 
Of equsd spirit to dare^ and power to do : 
So near intrench'd^ that 'tis beyond all hope 
Of human counsel they can e'er be sever 'd^ 
Until it be determined by the sword^ 
Who hath the better cause : for the success 
Concludes the victor innocent^ and the vanquish' d 
Most miserably guilty. How uncertain 
The fortune of the war is^ children know ; 
And, it being in suspense, on whose fair tent 
Wing'd Victory will make her glorious standi 
You cannot blame the duke^ though he appear 
Perplex'd and troubled. 

Steph. But why, then. 
In such a time, when every knee should bend 
For the success and safety of his person. 
Are these loud triumphs^? in my weak opinion. 
They are unseasonable. 

Tib. I judge so too ; 
But only in the cause to be excused. 
It is the duchess' birthday, once a year 
Solemnized with all pomp and ceremony ; 
In which the duke is not his own, but hers : 

Nay, every day, indeed, he is her creature, 

For never man so doted ; — ^but to tell 

The tenth part of his fondness to a stranger. 

Would argue me of fiction. 

• So near ititrencli'd^ &cl The French army was at this 
time engaged in the siege or Pavia, under the walls of which 
the decisive battle was fought, on the 24th of February, 1525. 

GiFFORD. 

« Tr%umpht^'\ i. e. a pageant. 



/ 



12 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT 1, 

Steph, She's, indeed, 
A lady of most exquisite form. 

Tib, She knows it. 
And how to prixe it. 

Steph, I ne'er heard her tainted 
In any point of honour. 

Tib. On my life. 
She's constant to his bed, and well deserves 
His largest favours. But, when beauty is 
Stamp'd on great women, great in birth and fortune^ 
And blown by flatterers greater than it is, 
'Tis seldom unaccompanied with pride ; 
Nor is she that way free : presuming on 
The duke's affection, and her own desert. 
She bears herself with such a majesty, 
Looking with scorn on all as things beneath her. 
That Sforza's mother, that would lose no part 
Of what was once her own, nor his fair sister, 
A lady too acquainted with her worth. 
Will brook it well ; and howsoe'er their hate 
Is smother'd for a time, 'tis more than fear'd 
It will at length break out. 

Steph. He in whose power it is. 
Turn all to the best ! 

Tib. Come, let us to the court ; 
We there shall see all bravery and cost. 
That art can boast of. 

Steph. I 'U bear you company. [^Exeunt 



8C. II. THE DUKE OF MILAN. Id 

SCENE II. 

Another Room in the same. 

Enter Francisco^ Isabella^ and Mariana. 

Mart. I will not go; I scorn to be a spot* * 
In her proud train. 

Inah, Shall I^ that am his mother^ 
Be so indulgent^ as to wait on her 
That owes me duty ? 

Fran. 'Tis done to the duke^ 
And not to her : and^ my sweet wife^ remember^ 
And^ madam^ if you please^ receive my counsel^ 
As Sforza is your son^ you may command him ; 
And, as a sister^ you may challenge from him 
A brother's love and favour : but, this granted. 
Consider he's the prince, and you his subjects. 
And not to question or contend with her 
Whom he is pleased to honour. Private men 
Prefer their wives ; and shall he, being a prince. 
And blest with one that is the paradise 
Of sweetness, and of beauty, to whose charge 
The stock of women's goodness is given up, 
Not use her like herself? 

I sab. You are ever forward 
To sing her praises. 

MarL Others are as fair; 
1 am sure, as noble. 

Fran. I detract from none. 
In giving her what's due. Were she deform'd. 
Yet being the duchess, I stand bound to serve her ; 

' / 8Corn to he a tpot^ &c.] Mariana alludes to the spots 
(eyes) in the peacock's tail.— Giffobd. 



14 TMM VTKX. or xhax. act u 



Bat, «s sbe i»^ to idoire Wr. Never wife 
Met with a purer heat her hsxAma^s faiwu ; 
A hxppr pnr, one ici the o^er hlest ! 
She confident in heisidf he's whaDr hers^ 
And cannot mtk fbr chan^ ; and he Kcme, 
That 'tis not in the power of nan to tenpt her. 
And thexefote to contest with her, diat is 
The stronger and the better part of hip. 
Is more than fcDrz too know him of a nature 
Not to be plaj'd with ; and, should joa forget 
To ober hun as toot prince, hell not lemember 
The dutj that he owes too. 

Isab. Tis but truth :' 
Come, dear our brows, and let us to the banquet ; 
But not to serve his idoL 

Mart. I shall do 
What mav become the sister of a prince ; 
But will not stoop beneath it. 

Fran. Yet, be wise ; 
Soar not too high, to fidl ; but stoop to rise. 

SCENE III. 
A Slate Room in ike same. 

Enter three Gentlemen, setting forth a hamqmet. 

1 Gent. Quick, quick, for love's sake! let the 

court put on 
Her choicest outside : cost and bravery 
Be only thoufffat of. 

2 Gent. AU that may be had 

Ta please the eye, the ear, taste, touch, or smell, 
\re carefully provided* 



8CIII« 



THE DUKE OF MILAN* l5 



3 Gent. There 's a masque : 
Have you heard what 's the invention ? 

1 Gent. No matter : 
It is intended for the duchess' honour ; 
And if it give her glorious attributes^ 
As the most fair^ most virtuous^ and the rest^ "^ 
'Twill please the duke. [^Loud music,'^ They come. 

3 Gent. All is in order. 

Flourish. Enter Tiberio^ Stephano^ Francisco, 
Sforza^ Marcelia^ Isabella^ Mariana^ and 
Attendants. 

Sfor. You are the mistress of the feast — sit here, 
O my soul's ccmifort I and when Sforza bows 
Thus low to do you honour, let none think 
The meanest service they can pay my love. 
But as a fair addition to those titles 
They stand possest of. Let me glory in 
My happiness, and mighty kings look pale 
With envy, while I triumph in mine own. 
O mother, look on her ! sister, admire her ! 
And, since this present age yields not a woman 
Worthy to be her second, borrow of 
Times past, and let imagination help. 
Of those canonized ladies Sparta boasts of. 
And, in her greatness, Rome was proud to owe *, 
To fashion one ; yet still you must confess. 
The phoenix of perfection ne'er was seen. 
But in my fair Marcelia. 

Fran, She's, indeed. 
The wonder of all times. 

Tib. Your excellence, 

> Owe,'] i. e. own, possess. 



>- fT-..«- 




SC. III. THB DUKB OP IflLAKr 17 

Marc. I ne*er will seek 
Delight but in your pleasure : and desire. 
When you are sated with all earthly glories. 
And age and honours make you fit for heaven^ 
That one grave may receive us* 

Sfor, 'Tis believed. 
Believed, my blest one. 

Mart, How she winds herself ^ 

Into his soul ! 

Sfor. Sit all. — Let others feed 
On those gross cates, while Sfcnrza banquets with 
Immortal viands ta'en in at his eyes. 
I could live ever thus. — Command the eunuch 
To sing the ditty that I last composed^ 

Enter a Courier^ 

In praise of my Marcelia. Prom whence ? 

Cour. Prom Pa via, my dread lord. 

Sfor. Speak, is all lost ? 

Cour, \I)el%vers a letter!] The letter will inform 
you. ^JEoiii, 

Fran. How his hand shakes^ 
As he receives it I 

Mart, This is some allay 
To his hot passion. 

Sfor. Though it bring death, I '11 read it : 

May ii please your excellence to understand, that 
the very hour I wrote this, I heard a bold defiance 
delivered by a herald from the emperor, which was 
cheerfully received by the king of France. The 
battailes being ready to join, and the vanguard 
committed to my charge, enforces me to end abruptly. 
Your highnesses humble servant, 

Gaspero. 

VOL. II. C 



18 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT 1. 

Ready to join! — By this, then, I am nothing. 

Or my estate secure. \_Aside, 

Marc, My lord. 

Sfor. To doubt. 
Is worse than to have lost ; and to despair, 
I Is but to antedate those miseries 
That must fall on us ; all my hopes depending 
Upon this battle's fortune. In my soul, 
Methinks, there should be that imperious power. 
By supernatural, riot usual means, 
T' inform me what I am. The cause considered. 
Why should I fear } The French are bold and strong. 
Their numbers full, and in their councils wise j 
But then, the haughty Spaniard is all fire. 
Hot in his executions ; fortunate 
In his attempts ; married to victory : — 
Ay, there it is that shakes me. {^Aside. 

Fran, Excellent lady. 
This day was dedicated to your honour ; 
One gale of your sweet breath will easily 
Disperse these clouds; and, but yourself, there 'snone 
That dare speak to him. 

Marc. I will run the hazard. — 
My lord ! 

Sfor. Ha ! — pardon me, Marcelia, I am troubled; 
And stand uncertain, whether I am master 
Of aught that 's worth the owning. 

Marc. 1 am yours, sir ; 
And I have heard you swear, I being safe. 
There was no loss could move you. This day, sir. 
Is by your gift made mine. Can you revoke 
A grant made to Marcelia? your Marcelia.^ — 
For whose love, nay, whose honour, gentle sir. 
All deep designs, and state-affairs dercrr'd, 
■^e, as you purposed, merry. 



8C. III. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 1 9 

Sfor. Out of my sight ! [Throws away the letter. 
And all thoughts that may strangle mirth forsake 

me. 
Fall what can fall, I dare the worst oi fate : 
Though the foundation of the earth should shrink^ 
The glorious eye of heaven lose his splendour. 
Supported thus, I '11 stand upon the ruins^ 
And seek for new life here. Why are you sad? 
No other sports ! hy heaven, he 's not my friend 
That wears one furrow in his face. I was told 
There was a masque. 

Fran. They wait your highness' pleasure. 
And when you please to have it. 

Sfor. Bid them enter : 
Come, make me happy once again. I am rapt — 
Tis not to-day, to-jnorrow, or the next. 
But all my days, and years, shall be employ'd 
To do thee honour. 

Marc, And my life to serve you. 

[A horn without, 

Sfor. Another post ! Go hang him, hang him, 
I say; 
I will not interrupt my present pleasures. 
Although his message should import my head : u 
Hang him, I say. 

Marc. Nay, good sir, I am pleased 
To grant a little intermission to you : 
Who knows but he brings news we wish to hear. 
To heighten our delights. 

Sfor, As wise as fair ! 

Enter another Courier. 

From Gaspero ? 

c 2 



20 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT I* 

Cour, That was, my lord. 
Sfor, How! dead? 

Cour, r Delivers a letter.'^ Witli the delivery of 
this, SDd jgxBLyets, 
To guard your excellency from certain dangers. 
He ceased to be a man. \JE»it. 

Sfor. All that my fears 
/ Coiud fashion to me, or my enemies wish, 
' Is fallen upon me.— Silence that harsh music j^ 
'Tis now unseasonable: a tolling bell, **' 

As a sad harbinger to tell me, that 
This pamper'd lump of flesh must feast the worms. 
Is fitter for me : — I am sick. 
Marc. My lord ! 

Sfor. Sick to the death, ]\Iarcelia. Remove 
These signs of mirth ; they were ominous, and but 

usher'd 
Sorrow and ruin. 

Marc. Bless us, heaven ! 
Isab. My son. 

Marc. What sudden change is this ? 
Sfor. All leave the room ; 
I '11 bear alone the burden of my grief. 
And must admit no partner. I am yet 
Your prince, where 's your obedience ?— Stay, 

Marcelia ; 
I cannot be so greedy of a sorrow. 
In which you must not share. 

{^Exeunt Tiberio, Stephano, Francisco, Isa* 

BELLA, Mariana, and AttendanU. 
Marc. And cheerfully 
I will sustain my part. Why look you pale ? 
Where is that wonted constancy and courage. 



8C. III. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 21 

That dared the worst of fortune ? where is Sforza^ 
To whom aU dan^is that fnght common men ^ ) 
Appeared but panic terrors ? why do you eye me 
With such fix'd looks ? Love, counsel, duty, service. 
May flow from me, not danger. 

of or. O, Marcelia ! 
It is for thee I fear ; for thee, thy Sforza 
Shakes like a coward : for myself, unmoved, 
I oa^ld have heard my troops were cut in pieces. 
My general slain, litnd he, on whom my hopes 
Of rule, of state, of life^ had their dependence. 
The king of FVance, my greatest friend, made 

prisoner 
To so proud enemies. 

Marc. Then you have just cause 
To show you are a man. 

Sfor. All this were nothing. 
Though I add to it, that I am assured. 
For giving aid to this unfortunate king. 
The emperor, incensed, lays his command 
On his victorious army, flesh'd with spoil. 
And bold of conquest, to march up against me. 
And seize on my estates : suppose that done too. 
The city ta'en, the kennels running blood. 
The ransack'd temples falling on their saints ; 
My mother, in my sight, toss'd on their pikes. 
And sister ravish'd ; and myself bound fast 
In chains, to grace their triumph ; or what else 
An enemy's insolence could load me with, 
I would be Sforza still. But, when I think 
That ray Marcelia, to whom all these 
Are but as atoms to the greatest hill. 
Must suffer in my cause, and for me sufier ! 



U' 



22 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT I. 

All eartUy torments^ nay, even those the damn'd 
Howl for in hell, are geade strokes, compared 
To what I feel, Marcdia*. 

Marc, Good sir, have patience : 
I can as well partake your adverse fortune. 
As I thus long have had an ample share 
In your prosperity. 'Tis not in the power 
Of fate to alter me ; for while I am. 
In spite of it, I 'm yours. 

Sfor, But should that will 
To be so be forced, Marcelia ; and I live 
To see those eyes I prize above my own. 
Dart favours, though compell'd, upon another ; 
Or those sweet lips, yielding immortal nectar. 
Be gently touch'd by any but myself; 
Think, think, Marcelia, what a cursed thing 
I were, beyond expression 1 

Marc, Do not feed / 

Those jealous thoughts ; the only blessing that 

■ There is a striking similarity (as Mr. Gilchrist observes) 
between this passage, and the parting speech of Hector to 
Andromache: 

AXX* 9u fMi TftMtv r^fn fiiXu aXyo; ovi^^tt^ 

Out MVTfif *EjMcfi}f, »VTt n^Mftoto «ya«T0f , 

Ot^ri xaftytfirt^v^ it xiy <r0X(if n »eitt i^J^Am 

Ey *9inr,ft xi«'«My vir* etti^awt ^v^fAintw^tv^ 

Or0'«y 9%t^ «. r. «• IL vi. 450. 

But no grief 
For Ilium ; for her people ; for the king, 
My warlike sire ; nor even for the queen ; 
Nor for the numerous and the valiant band 
My brothers, destined, all, to bite the ground, 
So moves me, as my grief for thee alone. 

CowpER*8 Translation* 



«C« III. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 23 

Heaven hath bestow'd on us, more than on beasts. 
Is, that 'tis in our pleasure when to die. 
Besides, were I now in another's power. 
There are so many ways to let out life, 
I would not live, for one short minute, his : 
I was bom only yours, and I will die so. 

Sfor, Angels reward the goodness of this woman ! 

Enter Francisco. 

All I can pay is nothing. — Why, uncall'd for ? 

Fran, It is of weight, sir, that makes me thus 
press 
Upon your privacies. Your constant friend. 
The marquis of Pescara, tired with haste. 
Hath business that concerns your life and fortunes. 
And with speed, to impart. 

Sfor, Wait on him hither. ^JExit Francisco. 
And, dearest, to thy closet. Let thy prayers 
Assist my councils. 

Marc, To spare imprecations 
Against myself, without you I am nothing* {_Exit, 

Sfor, The marquis of Pescara ! a great soldier * ; 
And, though he served upon the adverse party. 
Ever my constant friend. 

He-enter Francisco with Pescara* 

Fran, Yonder he walks. 
Full of sad thoughts. 

» Sfor. The marquis of Pescara! a great soldier,^ Th 
duke does not exaggerate the merits of Pescara : he was, indee' 
a great soldier^ a fortunate commander, an able negotiator, 
a word, one of the chief ornaments of a period which abounds 
in extraordinary characters.— GiFFORDt 



24 THE DUKE OF MILAN, 4i..T I. 

Pesc. Blame him not, good Francisco^ 
He hath much cause to grieve; would I might 

end 80^ 
And not add this^ — to fear ! 

Sfor. My dear Pescara ; 
A miracle in these times ! a firiend^ and happy. 
Cleaves to a £edling fortune ! 

Peso, If it were 
As well in my weak power, in act, to raise it. 
As 'tis to hear a part of sorrow with you. 
You then should have just cause to say, Pescara 
Look'd not upon your state, hut on your virtues. 
When he made suit to he writ in the list 
Of those you favour'd.— But my haste forhids 
All compliment ; thus, then, sir, to the purpose : 
The cause that, unattended, brought me hither. 
Was not to tell you of your loss, or danger ; 
For fame hath many wings to Inring ill tidings, 
And I presume you've h^urd it ; but to give you 
Such fnendly counsel, as, perhiqps, may make 
Your sad diw^ter less. 

Sfor, You are all soodness ; 
And I give up myself to he diroofled of. 
As in your ^;visdom you think fit. 

Pesc, Thus, then, sir: 
To hope you can hold out against the emperor. 
Were flattery in yourself, to your undoing : 
Therefore, the si^est course that you can take. 
Is, to give up yourself to his discretion. 
Before you he compell'd ; for, rest, assured, 
A voluntary 3rielding may find grace. 
And will admit defence, at least, excuse : 
But, should you linger doubtful, till his power* 



SC. nt:;/ THE DUKE OF MILAN, 25 

Have seized your person and estates perforce^ 
You must expect extremes. 

Sfor, I understand you ; 
And I will put your counsel into act. 
And speedily. I only wiU take order 
For some domestical afiairs, that do 
Concern me nearly, and with the next sun 
Ride with you: in the mean time, my hest 

friend. 
Pray take your rest. 

Pesc. Indeed, I have travell'd hard ; . ^ 

And will embrace your counsel. \Ei%L 

Sfor. With all care. 
Attend my noble friend. Stay you, Francisco, 
You see how things stand with me ? 

Fran. To my jmef : 
And if the loss of my poor life could be 
A sacrifice to restore them as they were, 
I willingly would lay it down. 

Sfor, I think so : 
For I have ever found you true and thankful, ^- 
Which makes me love the building I have raised 
In your advancement ; and repent no grace 
I have conferred upon you. And, believe me. 
Though now I should repeat my favours to you, 
The titles I have given you, and the means 
Suitable to your honours ; that I thought you 
Worthy my sister and my family. 
And in my dukedom made you next myself; 
It is not to upbraid you ; but to tell you 
I find you are worthy of them, in your love 
And service to me. 

Fran, Sir, I am your creature ; 



26 .THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT I. 

' And any shape, that you would have me wear, 
I gladly will put on. 

Sfor, Thus, then, Francisco : 
I now am to deliver to your trust 
A weighty secret; of so strange a nature^ 
And 'twill, I know, appear so monstrous to you> 
That you will tremhle in the execution. 
As much as I am tortured to command it : 
For 'tis a deed so horrid, that, hut to hear it. 
Would strike into a ruffian flesh'd in murders. 
Or an ohdurate hangman, soft compassion ; 
And yet, Francisco, of all men the dearest. 
And from me most deserving, such my state 
And strange condition is^ that thou alone 
Must know the fatal service, and perform it. 

Fran, These preparations, sir, to work a stranger. 
Or to one unacquainted with your bounties. 
Might appear useful ; but to me they are 
. Needless impertinencies : for I dare do 
Whate'er you dare command. 

Sfor, But you must swear it ; 
And put into the oath all joys or torments 
That fright the wicked, or confirm the good ; 
Not to conceal it only, that is nothing, 
But, whensoe'er my will shall speak, Strike now ! 
To fall upon 't like thunder. 

Fran. Minister 
The oath in any way or form you please, 
I stand resolved to take it. 

Sfor, Thou must do, then. 
What no malevolent star will dare to look on. 
It is so wicked : for which men will curse thed 
For being the instrument ; and the blest angeU 



SC. III. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 27 

Forsake me at my need> for being the author : 

For 'tis a deed of nighty of night, Francisco ! 

In which the memory of all good actions 

We can pretend to shall be buried quick : 

Or, if we be remember'd, it shall be 

To fright posterity by our example. 

That have outgone all precedents of villains 

That were before us ; and such as succeed, 

Though taught in hell's black school, shall ne'er 

come near us. — 
Art thou not shaken yet ? 

Fran, I grant you move me : 
But to a man confirm'd 

Sfor. I '11 try your temper : 
What think you of my wife ? 

Fran, As a thing sacred ; _- 

To whose fair name and memory I pay gladly 
These signs of duty. 

Sfor. Is she not the abstract 
Of all that's rare, or to be wish'd in woman ? 

Fran, It were a kind of blasphemy to dispute it ; 
But to the purpose, sir. 

Sfor. Add too, her goodness. 
Her tenderness of me, her care to please me. 
Her unsuspected chastity, ne'er equall'd ; 1 

Her innocence, her honour : — O, I am lost 
In the ocean of her virtues and her graces. 
When I think of them ! 

Fran. Now I find the end 
Of all your conjurations; there's some service 
To be done for this sweet lady. If she have 

enemies. 
That she would have removed — — 



] 



28 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT I. 

Sfor, Alas! Francisco, 
Her greatest enemy is her greatest lover; 
Yet, m that hatred, her idmater. 
One smile of hers would make a savage tame ; 
One accent of that tongue would calm the seas. 
Though all the winds at once strove there for 

empire. 
Yet I, for whom she thinks all this too little. 
Should I miscarry in this present journey. 
From whence it is all numher to a cipher, 
I ne'er return with honour, hy thy hand 
Must have her murder'd. 

Fran. Murder'd ! — She that loves so. 
And so deserves to he heloved again ! 
And I, who sometimes you were pleased to favour, 
Pick'd out the instrument ! 

Sfor, Do not fly off : 
What is decreed can never he recall'd ; 
'Tis more than love to her, that marks her out 
A wish'd companion to me in hoth fortunes : 
And strong assurance of thy zealous faith. 
That gives up to thy trust a secret, that 
Racks should not have forced from me. O, Francisco ! 
There is no heaven without her ; nor a hell. 
Where she resides. I ask from her hut justice. 
And what I would have paid to her, had sickness^ 
Or any other accident, divorced 
Her purer soul from her unspotted hody. 
The slavish Indian princes, when they die. 
Are cheerfully attended to the Are 
By the wife and slave that, living, they loved heat. 
To do them service in another world : 
Nor will I he less honoured, that love more. 



8C. III. THB DUKE OF MILAN* 29 

And therefore trifle not^ but^ in thy looks^ 
Express a ready purpose to perform 
What I command ; or^ by Marcelia's soul^ 
This is thy Litest minute. 

Fran, 'Tis not fear 
Of deaths but love to you^ makes me embrace it; 
But for mine own security^ when 'tis done. 
What warrant have I ? If you please to sign one, 
I shallj though with unwillingness and horror. 
Perform your dreadful charge. 

Sfor. I will, Francisco: 
But still remember, that a prince's secrets 
Are balm conceal'd ; but poison, if discover'd. 
I may come back ; then this is but a trial 
To purchase thee, if it were possible , 
A nearer place in my affection : — but 
I know thee honest. ^ 

Fran, 'Tis a character 
I will not part with. 

Sfor. I may live to reward it^ \^Exeunt. 

' If we compare this scene with the celebrated scene between 
King John and Hubert, in Shakspeare's tragedy of King John, 
we wall perceive this remarkable difference, that Sforza, while 
be proposes to his brother-in-law and favourite the eventual 
muraer of his wife, whom he idolizes, is consistent and 
detemuDed; his mind is filled with horror of the deed, but 
borne to the execution of it by the impulse of an extravagant 
and fantastic delicacy: John, who is actuated solely by the 
desire of removing his rival in the crown, not only fears to 
coomianicate his purpose to Hubert, though he perceives him 
to be 

^ A fdlow by the hand of nature markM, 
Quoted, and signed to do a deed of shame,** 

but, after having sounded him, and found him ready to 



30 TIIE DUKE OF MILAN. . ACT II. 



ACT II. SCENE I. 

The same. An open Space before the Castle. 

Enter Tiberio and Stephano. 

Sieph, How ! left the court ? 

Tib. Without guard or retinue 
Fitting a- prince. 

Steph, No enemy near, to force him 
To leave his own strengths, yet deliver up 
Himself, as 'twere, in bonds, to the discretion 
Of him that hates him ! 'tis beyond example. 
You never heard the motives that induced him 
To this strange course? 

Tib. No, those are cabinet councils^ 
And not to be communicated, but 

execute whatever he can propose, he only hints at ihe deed. 
Sfbfza enlarges on the cruelty and atrocity of his design : John 
is afraid to utter hii in the view of the sun; nay, the 
sanguinary Richard hesitates in propoidng the murder of l^ii 
nepnews to Buckingham. In this instance, then, as well at 
that of Charelois, our poet may seem to deviate ttoxn Datuie, 
for ambition is a stronger passion than love; yet Sforia 
decides with more promptness and confidence than either of 
ShakspeaTe*^ characters. We must consider, however, that 
timidity and irresolution are characteristics of John, and that 
Kichard*s hesitation appears to be assumed, only in order to 
transfer the guilt and odium of the action to Buckingham.—. 
Ferriar. 

This scene seems to have engrossed the aides* attentiofi 
to the neglect of the rest; let me suggest, in justice to 
Massinger, that it is equalled, if not surpassed, by some of the 
succeeding ones, and, among the rest, by that whidi concludes 
the second act— GxrroRD* 



ffC. I. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 3\ 

To such as are his own^ and sure. Alas i 
We fill up empty places, and in public 
Are taught to give our suffrages to that 
Which was before determined ; and are safe so. 
Signior Francisco (upon whom alone 
His absolute power is> with all strength, conferred. 
During his absence) can with ease resolve you : 
To me they are riddles. 

Sieph. Well, he shall not be 
My CEdipus ; I '11 rather dwell in darkness. 
But, my good lord Tiberio, this Francisco 
Is, on the sudden, strangely raised. 

TiL O sir. 
He took the thriving course : he had a sister ', 
A fair one too, with whom, as it is rumour'd. 
The duke was too familiar ; but she, cast off, 
(What promises soever pass'd between them) 
Upon the sight of this^ forsook the court. 
And since was never seen. To smother this. 
As honours never fail to purchase silence » 
Francisco first was graced, and, step by step. 
Is raised up to this height. 

Sieph. But how is 
His absence borne } 

Tib. Sadly, it seems, by the duchess ; 

» He had a sister^ &c.l There is great art in this 
introduction of the sister. In the management of these pre- 
paratofy hints, Massinger surpasses all his contemporaries. 
in Beaumont and Fletcher, '< the end s/>metimes forgets the 
beginning;" and even Sbakspeare is not entirely free from 
inattentions o( a similar nature. I will not here praise the 
general felidty of our author's plots: but whatever they were, 
be seems to have minutely arranged all the component parts 
before a line of the dialogue was written. — Gifford. 

* Ofthisy &c] L e. the present duchess. — M. Mason. 



For since he left the court. 

For the most part she hath kept her private 

chamber. 
No visitants admitted. In the church. 
She hath been seen to pay her pure devotions, 
Season'd with tears ; and sure her sorrow's true. 
Or deeply counterfeited ; pomp, and state. 
And bravery cast off: and she, that lately 
Rivalled Poppsea in her varied shapes. 
Or the Egyptian queen, now, widow-like. 
In sable colours, as her husband's dangers 
Strangled in her the use of any pleasure. 
Mourns for his absence. 

Steph, It becomes her virtue. 
And does confirm what was reported of her. 

Tib. You take it right : but, on the other side. 
The darling of his mother. Mariana, 
As there were an antipathy between 
Her and the duchess' passions ; and as 
She'd no dependence on her brother's fortune. 
She ne'er appear'd so full of mirth. 

Steph. 'Tis strange. 

Enter Graccho with Fiddlers. 

But see !. her favourite, and accompanied. 
To your report. 

Grac, You shall scrape, and I will sing 
A scurvy ditty to a scurvy tune. 
Repine who dares. 

1 Fid. But if we should offend. 
The duchess having silenced us; — and these lords 
Stand by to hear us. — 

Grac, They in name are lords> 
But I am one in power : and, for the duchess^ 



SC. I. THB DUKE OF MILAN. 33 

But yesterday we were merry for her pleasure. 
We now '11 be for my lady's. 

Tib, Signior Ghraccho. 

Grac. A poor man, sir, a servant to the princess ; 
But you, great lords and| counsellors of state, 
Whom I stand bound to reverence. 

Tib, Come ; we know 
You are a man in grace. 

Grac. Fie ! no : I grant, 
I bear my fortunes patiently ; serve the princess. 
And have access at all times to her closet. 
Such is my impudence I when your grave lordships 
Are masters of the modesty to attend 
Three hours, nay, sometimes four ; and then bid 

wait 
Upon her the next morning. 

Sleph. He derides us. 

Tib. Pray you, what news is stirring? you 
know all. 

Grac, Who, I ? alas ! I 've no intelligence 
At home nor abroad ; I only sometimes guess 
The change of the times : I should ask of your 

lordships. 
Who are to keep their honours, who to lose them ; 
Who the duchess smiled on last, or on whom 

frown'd. 
You only can resolve me ; we poor waiters 
Deal, as you see, in mirth, and foolish fiddles : 
It is our element ; and — could you tell me 
What point of state 'tis that I am commanded 
To muster up this music, on mine honesty. 
You should much befriend me. 

Steph. Sirrah, you grow saucy. 

Tib, And would be laid by the heels. 

VOL. II. D 



34 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT II. 

Grac, Not by your lordships^ 
Without a special warrant; look to your own 

stakes ; 
Were I committed^ here Come those would bail me : 
Perhaps, we might change places too. 

Enter Isabella and Mariana ; Graccho 
whispers the latter. 

Tib. The princess ! 
We must be patient. 

Steph. There is no contending. 

Tib, See, the informing rogue ! 

Steph, That we should stoop 
To such a mushroom ! 

Mari. Thou dost mistake ; they durst not 
Use the least word of scom^ although provoked^ 
To any thing of mine. — Go, get you home. 
And to your servants, friends, and flatterers, number 
How many descents you 're noble :— look to your 

wives too ; 
The smooth-chinn'd courtiers are abroad. 

Tib, No way to be a freeman ! 

\_Exeunt Tiberio and Stephano. 

Grac. Your Excellence hath the best gift to 
despatch 
These arras pictures of nobility 
I ever read of. 

Mari. I can speak sometimes. 

Grac. And cover so your bitter pills with 
sweetness 
Of princely language to forbid reply. 
They are greedily swallow'd. 

Isab, But the purpose, daughter. 
That brings us hither ? Is it to bestow 



SC. I. THE DUKE OF MILAK. 35 

A visit on this woman^ that, because 
She only would be thought truly to grieve 
The absence and the dangers of my son. 
Proclaims a general sadness ? 

Mart. If to vex her 
May be interpreted to do her honour. 
She shall have many of them. I '11 make use 
Of my short reign : my lord now governs all ; 
And she shall know that her idolater. 
My brother, being not by now to protect her, 
I am her equaL 

(jrac. Of a little thing. 
It is so full of gall ! A devil of this size. 
Should they run for a wager to be spiteful. 
Gets not a horse-head of her. [^Aside, 

Mart. On her birthday. 
We were forced to be merry, and now she *s musty. 
We must be sad, on pain of her displeasure : 
We will, we wiU ! this is her private chamber. 
Where, like an hypocrite, not a true turtle. 
She seems to mourn her absent mate ; her servants 
Attending her like mutes : but I '11 speak to her. 
And in a high key too. — Play any thing 
That *s light and loud enough but to torment her. 
And we wiU have rare sport. [Music and a song^. 

Marge LI A appears at a window above, in blacky 

Isab. She frowns as if 
Her looks could fright us. 

Mart. May it please your greatness, 
We, madam, that are born your highness* vassals, 

> A iong,'\ This, like many others, does not appear; it was 
probably supplied at pleasure by the actors.— Giffobd. 

d2 



36 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT II. 

And are to play the fool to do you service. 
Present you with a fit of mirth. What think you 
Of a new antic ? 

Isab. 'Twould show rare in ladies. 

Mari. Being intended for so sweet a creature. 
Were she but pleased to grace it. 

Isab, Fie ! she will. 
Be it ne'er so mean ; she 's made of courtesy. 

Mari. The mistress of all hearts. One smile, I 
pray you. 
On your poor servants, or a fiddler's fee ; 
Coming from those fair hands, though but a ducat, 
We will enshrine it as a holy relic 

Isab. 'Tis wormwood, and it works. 

Marc. If I lay by 
My fears and griefs, in which you should be sharers^ 
If doting age could let you but remember. 
You have a son ; or frontless impudence. 
You are a sister ; and, in making answer 
To what was most unfit for you to speak. 
Or me to hear, borrow of my just anger — - 

Isab, A set speech, on my life. 

Mari. Penn'd by her chaplain. 

Marc. Yes, it can speak, without instruction 
speak. 
And tell your want of manners, that you are rude. 
And saucily rude, too. 

Grac. Now the game begins. 

Marc. You durst not, else, on any hire or ho^. 
Remembering what I am, and whose I am. 
Put on the desperate boldness, to disturb 
The least of mv retirements. 

Mari. Note her, now. 



SC. I. THE DVKB OF MILAN. 37 

Marc. For both shall understand^ though the 
one presume 
Upon the privilege due to a mother^ 
The duke stands now on his own legs^ and needs 
No nurse to lead him. 

Isah. How^ a nurse ! 

Marc. A dry one. 
And useless too : — but I am merciful. 
And dot^e signs your pardon, 

Isah. I defy thee ; 
Thee, and thy pardons, proud one I 

Marc. For you, puppet 

Mart. What of me, pine-tree ' ? 

Marc. Little you are, I grant. 
And have as little worth, but much less wit ; 
You durst not else, the duke being wholly mine, ^ 
His power and honour mine, and the allegiance. 
You owe him, as a subject, due to me 

> Marc For you, puppet 

Man. What ofme^ pine-tree 9] 

^ Now I perceive that she hath made compare 
Between our statures.*' 
Puppet and may-pole^ and many other terms of equal elegance^ 
are kumdied ahout in the quarrel between Hermia and Helena, 
in Midsummer-Night's Dream, which is here too closely imi- 
tated. I forbear to quote the passages, which are familiar to 
every reader of Shakspeare. These traits, however disgusting, 
are not without their value ; they strongly mark the prevailing 
features of the times, which were universally coarse and in- 
delicate : they exhibit also a circumstance worthy of particular 
notice, namely, that those vigorous powers of genius, which 
cury men £ur beyond the literary state of their age, do not en- 
able them to outgo that of its manners. This must serve as 
an apokwy for our author ; indeed, it is the only one which 
can be orored for many who stand higher in the ranks of fame 
than Massinger, and who have still more need of it— Gifford* 



38 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT II. 

Mart. To you ? 

Marc, To me : and therefore^ as a vassal^ 
From this hour learn to serve me, or you 'U feel 
I must make use of my authority^ 
And^ as a princess^ punish it. 

Isab. A princess ! 

Mari, I had rather be a slave unto a Moor^ 
Than know thee for my equaL 

Isah. Scornful thing ! 
Proud of a white face. 

Mari. Oh^ that I could reach you ! 
The little one you scorn so^ with her nails 
Would tear your painted face^ and scratch those 

eyes out. 
Do but come down. 

Marc, Were there no other way. 
But leaping on thy neck, to break mine own. 
Rather than be outbraved thus. [_She retires. 

Grac. Forty ducats 
Upon the little hen ; she 's of the kind. 
And will not leave the pit. ^Aside, 

Mari. That it were lawful 
To meet her with a poniard and a pistol ! 
But these weak hands shall show my spleen — " 

Re-enter Marcelia below. 

Marc. Where are you. 
You modicum, you dwarf ! 
Mari, Here, giantess, here. 

Enter Francisco, Tiberio, Stephano, and 

Guards. 

Fran, A tumult in the court ! 
Mari, Let her come on. 



«G. I. TfiE DUKS 01* MlLANr 39 

Fran. What wind hath raised this tempest ? 
Sever them^ I command you. What 's the cause ? 
Speak^ Mariana. 

Mari. I am out of breath ; 
But we shall meet, we shall. — ^And do you hear, sir! 
Or right me on this monster, (she's three feet 
Too high for a woman,) or ne'er look to have 
A quiet hour with me. 

Isab. If my son were here. 
And would endure this, may a mother's curse 
Pursue and overtake him ! 

Fran, O forbear : 
In me he 's present, both in power and will ; 
And, madam, I much grieve that, in his absence. 
There should arise the least distaste to move you ; 
It being his principal, nay, only charge. 
To have you, in his absence, served and honoured. 
As when himself perform'd the willing office. 

Mari. This is fine, i' faith. 

Grac, I would I were well off ! 

Fran. And therefore, I beseech you, madam, 
frown not. 
Till most unwittingly he hath deserved it. 
On your poor servant ; to your excellence 
I ever was and will be such ; and lay 
The duke's authority, trusted to me. 
With willingness at your feet. 

Mari, O base ! 

Isab. We are like 
To have an equal judge ! 

Fran. But, should I find 
That you are touch'd in any point of honour, 
Or that the least neglect is fall'n upon you, 
I then stand up a prince. 



40 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT H, 

1 Fid, Without reward. 
Pray you dismiss us. 

Grac. Would I were five leagues hence ! 

Fran, I will be partial 
To none^ not to myself; 
Be you but pleased to show me my offence^ 
Or if you hold me in your good opinion^ 
Name those that have offended you. 

Isab, I am one^ 
And I will justify it. 

Mari. Thou art a base fellow. 
To take her part. 

Fran, Kemember^ she 's the duchess. 

Marc, But used with more contempt, than if I 
were 
A peasant's daughter ; with loud noises forced 
Forth from my prayers ; and my private chamber. 
Which vnth aU willingness I would make my 

prison 
During the absence of my lord, denied me : 
But if he e'er return — 

Fran, Were you an actor 
In this vile comedy ? 

Mari. Ay, marry was I ; 
And will be one again. 

Isab. I '11 join with her. 
Though you repine at it. 

Fran, Think not, then, I speak. 
For I stand bound to honour, and to serve you ; 
But that the duke, that lives in this great lady. 
For the contempt of him in her, commands you 
To be close prisoners. 

Isab, Mari, Prisoners ! 

Fran, Bear them henc^ ; 



SC. I. THS DUKE OF MILAN. 41 

This is your charge^ my lord Tiberio^ 
And^ Stephano^ this is yours. 

Marc. I am not cruel^ 
But pleased they may have liberty. 

Isah. Pleased^ with a mischief ! 

Mart, 111 rather live in any loathsome dungeon^ 
Than in a paradise at her entreaty: 
And^ for you, upstart ■ 

Steph. There is no contending. 

Tib. What shall become of these ? 

Fran. See them well whipp'd. 
As you will answer it. 

Tib. Now, signor Graccho, 
What think you of your greatness ? 

Grac. I preach patience> 
And must ^idure my fortune. 

1 Fid. I was never yet 
At such a hunt's upS nor was so rewarded. 

[^Exeunt all but Francisco and Marcelia. 

> A hunt '« tip.] The hunt '« up was a lesson on the horn, 
played under the windows of sportsmen, to call them up in the 
morning. It was, probably, sufficiently obstreperous, for it is 
frequently applied by our old writers, as in this place, to any 
iMnae or clamour of an awakening or alarming nature. The 
tune, or rather, perhaps, the words to it, was composed by one 
Gray, in the time of Henry VIII. who, as Puttenham tells us, 
in his Art of English Poesy, was much pleased with it. Of 
its popularity there can be no doubt, for it was one of the songs 
travestied by the Scotch Reformers into '' ane gude and godly 
ballate,*' for the edification of the elect. The tune, I suppose, 
is lost; but we have a hunVs up of our own, which is still 
played under the windows of the sluggish sportsman, and con- 
sists of a chorus of men, dogs, and horns, not a little alarming. 

— GlFFOBD. 



I 



4Z THE DUKE OF MILAJJ. ACT II. 

Frail. Let them first know themselves, and how 
you are 
To be served and honour'd; which, when they 

confess. 
You may again receive them to your favour : 
And then it will show nobly. 

Marc, With my thanks 
The duke shall pay you his, if he return 
To bless us with his presence. 

Fran, There is nothing 
That can be added to your fair acceptance ; 
That is the prize, indeed ; all else are blanks. 
And of no value. As, in virtuous actions. 
The undertaker finds a full reward. 
Although conferred upon unthankful men ; 
So, any service done to so much sweetness. 
However dangerous, and subject to 
An ill construction, in your favour finds 
A wish'd and glorious end. 

Marc, From you, I take this 
As loyal duty; but, in any other. 
It would appear gross flattery. 

Fran, Flattery, madam 1 
You are so rare and excellent in all things. 
And raised so high upon a rock of goodness. 
As that vice cannot reach you * ; who but looks on 
This temple, built by nature to perfection. 
But must bow to it; and out of that zeal. 
Not only learn to adore it, but to love it ? 

Marc, Whither will this fellow ? \^As%de, 

Fran, Pardon, therefore, madam. 
If an excess in me of humble duty, 

* That v%cey'\ i. e. flattery* 



SC. I. THE DURE OF MILAN. 43 

Teach me to hope^ and though it he not in 
The power of man to merit such a hlessing^ 
My piety, for it is more than love, "^ 

May find reward. 

Marc. You have it in my thanks ; 
And, on my hand, I am pleased that you shall take 
A fnll possession of it : hut, take heed 
That you fix here, and feed no hope heyond it ; 
If you do, it will prove fatal. 

Fran, Be it death. 
And death with torments tyrants ne'er found out. 
Yet I must say, I love you. 

Marc. As a suhject ; 
And 'twill become you. 

Fran. Farewell, circumstance ! 
And since you are not pleased to understand me. 
But by a plain and usual form of speech ; 
All superstitious reverence laid by, 
I love you, lady. Why do you start, and fly me ? 
I am no monster, and you but a woman, 
A woman made to yield, and by example 
Told it is lawful : favours of this nature 
Are, in our age, no miracles in the greatest ; 
And, therefore, lady 

Marc. Keep off*! — O you Powers ! 
Libidinous beast ! and, add to that, unthankful ! 
A crime, which creatures wanting reason fly from. 
Are all the princely bounties, favours, honours. 
Which, with some prejudice to his own wisdom, f 
Thy lord and raiser hath conferred upon thee. 
In three days* absence buried ? Hath he made thee, 
A thing obscure, almost without a name. 
The envy of great fortunes } Have I graced thee. 
Beyond thy rank, and entertained thee, as 



44 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT II. 

A friend, and not a servant ? and is this. 
This impudent attempt to taint mine honour. 
The fair return of both our ventured favours I 

Fran, Hear my excuse. 

Marc, The devil may plead mercy. 
And with as much assurance, as thou yield one. 
Is passion so mad in thee ? or is thy pride 
Grown up to such a height, that, but a princess> 
No woman can content thee ; and, add to it. 
His wife and princess, to whom thou art tied 
In all the bonds of duty ?— Read my life ; 
And find one act of mine so loosely carried^ 
That could invite a most self-loving fool. 
Set off with all that fortune could throw on him> 
To the least hope to find way to my favour. 

Fran, 'Tis acknowledged, madam. 
That your whole course of life hath been a pattern 
For chaste and virtuous women. In your beauty. 
Which I first saw, and loved, as a fair crystal, 
I read your heavenly mind, clear and untainted ! 
And while the duke did prize you to your value> 
Could it have been in man to pay that duty, 
I well might envy him, but durst not hope 
To stop you in your full career of goodness : 
But now I find that he's fall'n from his fortune. 
And, howsoever he would appear doting, 
Grown cold in his affection ; I presume. 
From his most barbarous neglect of you. 
To offer my true service. Nor stand I bound. 
To look back on the courtesies of him. 
That, of all living men, is most unthankful. 

Marc, Unheard-of impudence ! 

Fran, You'U say I am modest. 
When I have told the story. Can he tax me. 



8C. I. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 45 

That liave received some worldly trifles from liim^ 
For being ungrateful ; when he, that first tasted^ 
And hath so long enjoy 'd^ your sweet affection^ 
In which all blessings that our frail condition 
Is capable of, are wholly comprehended^ 
As cloy'd with happiness, contemns the giver 
Of his felicity; and^ as he reach'd not 
The masterpiece of mischief which he aims at^ 
Unless he pay those favours he stands bound to. 
With fell and deadly hate ! — You think he loves you 
With unexampled fervour ; nay, dotes on you. 
As there were something in you more than woman : 
When^ on my knowledge, he long since hath wish'd 
You were among the dead ; — and I, you scorn so. 
Perhaps, am your preserver. 

Marc, Bless me, good angels. 
Or I am blasted ! Lies so false and wicked. 
And fashion'd to so damnable a purpose. 
Cannot be spoken by a human tongue. 
My husband hate me ! give thyself the lie. 
False and accurs'd ! Thy soul, if thou hast any. 
Can witness, never lady stood so bound 
To the unfeign'd aflection of her lord. 
As I do to my Sforza. /' If thou wouldst work 
Upon my w^k credulity, tell me, rather. 
That the earth moves ; the sun and stars stand still ; 
The ocean keeps nor floods nor ebbs ; or that 
There's peace between the lion and the lamb; 
Or that the ravenous eagle and the dove 
Keep in one aerie*, and bring up their young; 
Or any thing that is averse to nature : 
And I will sooner credit it, than that 

» Acric,] i. e. nest. 



46 THE DUKE OF MILAN* ACT II. 

My lord can think of me, but as a jewel. 

He loves more than himself^ and all the world. 

Fran, O innocence abused ! simplicity cozen'd ! 
It were a sin, for which we have no name. 
To keep you longer in this wilful error. 
Read his affection here ; — {Gives her a paper. "^ — 

and then observe 
How dear he holds you ! 'Tis his character. 
Which cunning yet could never counterfeit. 

Marc» 'Tis his hand, I'm resolved^ of it. I'll try 
What the inscription is. 

Fran. Pray you, do so. 

Marc. Qreads.] You know my pleasure^ and the 
hour of Mar celiacs death, which jail not to execute^ 
as you will answer the contrary^ not with your head 
alone, hut with the ruin of your whole family. And 
this, written with mine own hand, and sigfted with 
my privy signet^ shall be your sufficient warrant* 

LoDovico Sforza. 

I do obey it ! every word 's a poniard. 

And reaches to my heart. [^Swoons, 

Fran. What have I done ? 
Madam ! for Heaven's sake, madam ! — O my fate ! 
I '11 bend her body^ forward. Dearest lady !— 
She stirs. For the duke's sake, for Sforsa's 

Marc. Sforza's ! stand off! though dead, I will 
be his, 

1 Resolved,] i, e. convinced, 

^ I'll bend her bodt/,]^to try if there be any life in it. 
Thus, in The Maid*8 Tragedy: 

'< I *ve heud, if there be any lilie, but how 
The body thus, and it will show itadf." 

OIFPOAD. 



•C. t. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 47 

And even my ashes shall abhor the touch 
Of any other. — O unkind and cruel ! 
Leam^ women, learn to trust in one another ; 
There is no faith in man : Sforza is false^ 
False to Marcelia ! 

Fran. But I am true^ 
And live to make you happy. All the pomp, 
State^ and observance you had^ being his^ 
Compared to what you shall enjoy^ when mine^ 
Shall be no more remember'd. Lose his memory^ 
And look with cheerful beams on your new crea- 
ture 5 
And know, what he hath plotted for your good. 
Fate cannot alter. If the emperor 
Take not his life, at his return he dies. 
And by my hand ; my wife, that is his heir. 
Shall quickly follow : — then we reign alone ! 
For with this arm I '11 swim through seas of blood. 
Or make a bridge, arch'd with the bones of men. 
But I will grasp my aims in you, my dearest. 
Dearest, and best of women ! 

Marc, Thou art a villain ! ^ 

All attributes of arch- villains made into one 
Cannot express thee. I prefer the hate 
Of Sforza, though it mark me for the grave. 
Before thy base affection. I am yet 
Pure and unspotted in my true love to him ; 
Nor shall it be corrupted, though he *s tainted : 
Nor will I part with innocence, because 
He is found guilty. For thyself, thou art 
A thing, that, equal with the devil himself, 
I do detest and scorn. 

Fran, Thou, then, art nothing : 



I 



48 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT Ilk 

Thy life is in my power, disdainful woman ! 

Think on 't^ and tremUe. 

Marc, No, though thou wert now 

To play thy hangman's part.— -Thou well may'st be 

My executioner, and art only fit 

For such employment ; hut ne'er hope to hare 

The least grace from me. I will never see thee> 

But as the shame of men : so, with my curses 

Of horror to thy conscience in this life. 

And pains in hell hereafter, I spit at thee ; 

And, making haste to make my peace with Heaven, 

Expect thee as my hangman. \Ex%L 

Fran. I am lost 

In the discovery of this fatal secret. 

Cursed hope, that flatter d me that wrongs could 
make her 

A stranger to her goodness 1 all my plots 

Turn back upon myself; but I am in, 

And must go on : and, since I have put off. 

From the shore of innocence, guilt be now my pilot ! 

Revenge first wrought me^; murder's his twin- 
brother . 

One deadly sin, then, help to cure another ! [Exit, 

1 Revenge firtt wrought me^ &c1 The reader ihoold not 
Ruffer these hints, of which he will find several in the ancoeed- 
ing pages, to escape him : they are not thrown oat at raodom 
by oMasainger, but intended to prepare the mind for the dread* 
fiU retaliation which follows — OiiroRD. 



ACT III. THE DUKE OF MILAN* 49 



ACT III. SCENE I. 
The Imperial Camp, before Pavia, 

Enter Medina^ Hernando^ and Alphonso. 

Med, The spoils the spoil ! 'tis that the soldier 
fights for. 
Our victory, as yet, affords us nothing 
But wounds and empty honour. We have passed 
The hazard of a dreadful day, and forced 
A passage with our swords through all the dangers 
That, page-like, wait on the success of war. 
And now expect reward. 

Hem. Hell put it in 
The enemy^s mind to he desperate, and hold out ! 
Yieldings and compositions will undo us ; 
And what is that way given, for the most part. 
Comes to the emperor's coffers, to defray 
The charge of the great action, as 'tis rumour'd : 
When, usually, some thing in grace, that ne'er heard 
The cannon's roaring tongue, but at a triumph. 
Puts in, and for his intercession shares 
All that we fought for j the poor soldier left 
To starve, or fill up hospitals. 

Alph. But, when 
We enter towns by force, and carve ourselves 
Pleasure with pillage, and the richest wines 
Open our shrunk-up veins, and pour into them 
New blood and fervour 

Med. I long to be at it ; 

VOL. 11. E 



I 



50 -f THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT I 



To see these chuffs *, that every day may spend 
A soldier's entertamment for a year. 
Yet make a third meal of a butich of raisins^: 
These sponges, that suck up a kingdom's fat. 
Battening like ^carabs^ in the dung of peace. 
To be squeezed out by the rough hand of war ; 
And all that their whole lives have heap'd togetl j 
By cozenage, perjury, or sordid thrift. 
With one gripe to be ravish'd. 

Hern, My main hope is. 
To begin the sport at Milan : (here 's enough. 
And of all kinds of pleasure we can wish for. 
To satisfy the most covetous. 

Alph. Every day 
We look for a remove. 

Med. For Lodowick Sforza, 
The Duke of Milan, I, on mine own knowledge, 
f Can say thus much : he is too much a soldier. 
Too confident of his own worth, too rich too. 
And understands too well the emperor hates him. 
To hope for composition. 

Alph, On my life. 
We need not fear his coming in^. 

Hern. On mine, 

> These chufi.] This word is always used in a bad sense, 
and means a coarse unmannered clown, at once sordid and 
wealihy. 

« A third meal of a bunch of raisins,] — i. e. three meals of 
one bunch of raisins.— This simple passage was the occasion of 
much discussion between Mr. GiiSbrd and the Edinburgh Re- 
viewers. 

3 Scarabs^] — i. e. beetles. 
His coming t;/,] — i. e. fits surrender of himself. 



• I. THE DUKE OF MILAI^. ' 5l 

do not wish it : I had rather that^ 

'o show his valour^ he 'd put us to the trouhle 

.^o fetch him in by the ears. 

Med* The emperor! 

flourish. Enter Charles, Pescara^ afid At- 
tendants. 

Chart. You make me wonder: — nay, it is no 
counsel S 
You may partake it, gentlemen: who'd have 

thought. 
That he, that scorn'd our proffer'd amity 
When he was sued to, should, ere he be summon'd, 
(Whether persuaded to it by base fear. 
Or flatter'd by false hope, which, 'tis uncertain,) 
First kneel for mercy ? 

Med. When your majesty 
Shall please to instruct us who it is, we may 
Admire it with you. 

Chart. Who, but the Duke of Milan, 
The right hand of the French ! of all that stand 
In our displeasure, whom necessity 
Compels to seek our favour, I would have sworn 
Sforza had been the last. 

Hern. And should be writ so. 
In the list of those you pardon. Would his city 
Had rather held us out a siege, like Troy, 
Than, by a feigned submission, he should cheat you 
Of a just revenge, or us of those fair glories 
We have sweat blood to purchase ! 

Med, With your honour 
You cannot hear him. 

> No counsel,^ — i. e. no secret* 

fi 2 



52 THB DUKE OF MILAN. ACT III. 

Alph, The sack alone of Milan 
Will pay the army. 

Charl. I am not so weak^ 
To be wrought on, as you fear ; nor ignorant 
That money is the sinew of the war : 
And on what terms soever he seek peace, 
'Tis in our power to grant it, or deny it : 
Yet, for our glory, and to show him that 
We 've brought him on his knees, it is resolved 
To hear him as a suppliant. Bring him in ; 
But let him see the effects of our just anger. 
In the guard that you make for him. 

\_Extt Pescara. 

Hern, I am now 
Familiar with the issue ; all plagues on it ! 
He will appear in some dejected habit. 
His countenance suitable, and for his order, 
A rope about his neck : then kneel, and tell 
Old stories, what a worthy thing it is 
To have power, and not to use it ; then add to that 
A tale of King Tigranes, and great Pompey, 
Who said, forsooth, and wisely ! 'twas more honour 
To make a king, than kill one : which, applied 
To the emperor and himself, a pardon 's granted 
To him an enemy ; and we, his servants, 
Condemn'd to beggary. \^Aside to Med. 

Med. Yonder he comes ; 
But not as you expected. 

Re-enter Pescara with Sforza, strongly guarded, 

Alph, He looks as if 
Ho would outface his dangers. 

Hern. I am cozen'd: 
A suitor, in the devil's name .' 



8C. I. THE DUKE OF MILAN« 53 

Med, Hear him speak. 

Sfor. I come not, emperor, to invade thy mercy. 
By fawning on thy fortune ; nor bring with me 
Excuses or denials. I profess. 
And with a good man's confidence, even this instant i 
That I am in thy power, I was thine enemy ; ] 

Thy deadly and vow'd enemy : one that wish'd 
Confusion to thy person and estates ; 
And with my utmost powers, and deepest counsels. 
Had they been truly follow'd, furthered it. y 

Nor will I now, although my neck were under 
The hangman's axe, with one poor syllable 
Confess, but that I honour'd the French king 
More than thyself and all men. 

Med, By saint Jaques, 
This is no flattery. 

Hem. There is fire and spirit in 't ; 
But not long-lived, I hope. 

Sfor, Now give me leave. 
My hate against thyself, and love to him 
Freely acknowledged, to give up the reasons 
That made me so affected : In my wants 
I ever found him faithful; had supplies 
Of men and monies from him ; and my hopes. 
Quite sunk, were, by his grace, buo/d up again : 
He was, indeed, to me, as my good angel 
To guard me from all dangers. I dare speak. 
Nay, must and will, his praise now, in as high 
And loud a key, as when he was thy equal. — 
The benefits he sow'd in me met not 
Unthankful ground, but yielded him his own 
With fair increase, and I still glory in it. 
And, though my fortunes, poor, compared to his. 
And Milan, weigh'd with France, appear as nothing, 
Are in thy fury burnt, let it.be mention'd, 



54 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT III. 

They served but as small tapers to attend 
The solemn flame at this great funeral : 
And with them I will gladly waste myself. 
Rather than undergo the imputation 
Of being base, or unthankful. 

Alph, Nobly spoken ! 

Hern, I do begin, I know not why, to hate him 
Less than I did. 

Sfor, If that, then, to be grateful 
For courtesies received, or not to leave 
A friend in his necessities, be a crime 
Amongst you Spaniards, which other nations 
That, like you, aim'd at empire, loved, and cherish'd 
Where'er they found it, Sforza brings his head 
To pay the forfeit. Nor come I as a slave, 
Pinion'd and fetter'd, in a squalid weed. 
Falling before thy feet, kneeling and howling. 
For a forestall'd remission : that were poor. 
And would but shame thy victory; for conquest 
Over base foes, is a captivity. 
And not a triumph. I ne'er fear'd to die. 
More than I wish'd to live. When I had reached 
My ends in being a duke, I wore these robes. 
This crown upon my head, and to my side 
This sword was girt ; and witness truth, that, now 
*Tis in another's power, wh^a I shall part 
With them and life together, I 'm the same : 
My veins then did not swell with pride ; nor now 
Shrink they for fear. Know, sir, that Sforza stands 
Prepared for either fortune. 

Hern, As I live, 
I do begin strangely to love this fellow ; 
And could part with three quarters of my share in 
The promised spoil, to save him, 

Sfor. But, if example 



Of my fidelity to the French, whose honours. 
Titles, and glories, are now mix'd with yours. 
As hrooks, devour'd by rivers, lose their names. 
Has power to invite you to make him a friend. 
That hath given evident proof, he knows to love. 
And to be thankful : this my crown, now yours. 
You may restore me, and in me instruct 
These brave commanders, should your fortune 

change. 
Which now I wish not, what they may expect 
From noble enemies, for being faithful. 
The charges of the war I will defray. 
And, what you may, not without hazard, force. 
Bring freely to you : I *11 prevent the cries 
Of murder'd infants, and of ravish'd maids. 
Which, in a city sack'd, call on heaven's justice. 
And stop the course of glorious victories : 
And, when I know the captains and the soldiers. 
That have in the late battle done best service. 
And are to be rewarded, I myself. 
According to their quality and merits. 
Will see them largely recompensed. — I have said. 
And now expect my sentence. 

Alph, By this light, 
'Tis a brave gentleman. 

Med. How like a block 
The emperor sits ! 

Hem. He hath delivered reasons. 
Especially in his purpose to enrich 
Such as fought bravely, (I myself am one, 
I care not who knows it,) as I wonder that 
He can be so stupid. Now he begins to stir ; 
Mercy, an't be thy will ! 

CharL. Thou hast so far 



56 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT III. 

Outgone my expectation, noble Sforza, 
For such I hold thee ; — and true constancy. 
Raised on a brave foundation, bears such palm 
And privilege with it, that where we behold it. 
Though in an enemy, it does command us 
To love and honour it. By my future hopes, 
I am glad, for thy sake, that, in seeking favour. 
Thou didst not borrow of vice her indirect. 
Crooked, and abject means ; and for mine own, 
That, since my purposes must now be changed. 
Touching thy life and fortunes, the world cannot 
Tax me of levity in my settled counsels ; 
I being neither wlx)ught by tempting bribes. 
Nor servile flattery; but forced into it 
By a fair war of virtue. 
Hern, This sounds well. 
Chart, All former passages of hate be buried : 
For thus with open arms I meet thy love. 
And as a i^end embrace it ; and so far 
I am from robbing thee of the least honour, 
^hat with my hands, to make it sit the faster, 
I set thy crown once more upon thy head ; 
And do not only style thee Duke of Milan, 
But vow to keep thee so. Yet, not to take 
From others to give only to myself, 
I will not hinder your magnificence 
To my commanders, neither will I urge it ; 
But in that, as in all things else, I leave you 
To be your own disposer. 

E Flourish, Exit with Attendants. 
-^ ^ ve 

To seal my loyalty, though with loss of life, 
In some brave service worthy Cesar's favour. 
And I shall die most happy ! Gentlemen, 



8C. I. THB DUKE OF MILAN. 57 

Receive me to your loves ; and if henceforth 

There can arise a difference between us. 

It shall be in a noble emulation 

Who hath the fairest sword^ or dare go farthest^ 

To fight for Charles the emperor. 

Hem, We embrace you. 
As one well read in all the points of honour: 
And there we are your scholars. 

Sfor, True ; but such 
As far outstrip the master. We '11 contend 
In love hereafter ; in the mean time, pray you. 
Let me discharge my debt, and, as an earnest 
Of what 's to come, divide this cabinet : 
In the small body of it there are jewels 
Will yield a hundred thousand pistolets. 
Which honour me to receive. 

Med. You bind us to you. 

Sfor. And when great Charles commands me to 
his presence. 
If you will please to excuse my abrupt departure. 
Designs that most concern me, next this mercy. 
Calling me home, I shall hereafter meet you. 
And gratify the favour. 

Hern. In this, and all things. 
We are your servants. 

Sfor. A name I ever owe you. 
[^Exeunt Medina, Hernando, and Alphonso. 

Pesc. So, sir ; this tempest is well overblown. 
And all things fall out to our wishes : but. 
In my opinion, this quick return. 
Before you 've made a party in the court 
Among the great ones, (for these needy captains 
Have little power in peace,) may beget danger. 
At least suspicion. 



58 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT III. 

Sfor. Where true honour lives. 
Doubt hath no being : I desire no pawn 
Beyond an emperor's word, for my assurance. 
Besides, Pescara, to thyself^ of all men^ 
I will confess my weakness : — though my state 
And crown 's restored me, though I am in grace^ 
And that a little stay might be a step 
To greater honours, I must hence. Alas ! 
I live not here ; my wife, my wife, Pescara, 
Being absent, I am dead. Prithee, excuse. 
And do not chide, for friendship's sake, my fondness^ 
But ride along with me ; I '11 give you reasons, 
And strong ones, to plead for me. 

Peso. Use your own pleasure ; 
I '11 bear you company. 

Sfor, Farewell, grief! I am stored with 
Two blessing most desired in human life, 
A constant friend, an unsuspected wife. \JExeunt, 

SCENE II. 

Milan, A Boom in (he Castle. 

Enter an Officer with Oraccho. 

Qffic, What I did, I had warrant for; you have 
tasted 
My office gently, and for those sof^ strokes, 
Flea-bitings to the jerks I could have lent.you. 
There does belong a feeling. 

Grac, Must I pay 
For beins tormented, and dishonour'd } 

Qffic, Fie! no. 
Your honour's not impair'd in't. What's the 
letting out 



8C. II. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 59 

Of a little corrupt blood, and the next way too } 
There is no surgeon like me. 

Grac. Very good^ sir : 
But am I the first man of quality 
That e'er came under your fingers ? 

Qffic, Not by a thousand ; 
And they have said I have a lucky hand too : 
Both men and women of all sorts have bow'd 
Under this sceptre. I have had a fellow 
That could in£te^ forsooth^ and make fine metres 
To tinkle in the ears of ignorant madams^ 
That^ for defaming of great men^ was sent me 
Threadbare and lousy^ and in three days after^ 
Discharged by another that set him on, I have 

seen him 
Cap k pie gallant, and his stripes wash'd off 
With oil of angels *. 

Grac, 'Twas a sovereign cure. 

Qffic. There was a sectary too, that would 
not be 
Conformable to the orders of the church. 
Nor yield to any argument of reason. 
But still rail at authority, brought to me. 
When I had worm'd his tongue, and truss'd his 

haunches. 
Grew a fine pulpitman, and was beneficed : 
Had he not cause to thank me ? 

Grac^ There was physic 
Was to the purpose. 

Qffic. And, for women, sir. 
For your more consolation, I could tell you 

* With oil ofangeltA It may be just necessary to observe, 
that this is a pleasant allusion to the gold coin of that name.—* 

OlFFORD. 



60 THB DUKE OF MILAN. ACT III. 

Twenty fine stories of them. — Speak but truth, then^ 
Is not my office lucky ? 

Grac, Go, there 's for thee ; 
But what will be my fortune ? 

Offic, If you thrive not 
After that soft correction, come again. 

Grac, I thank you, knave. 

Offic, And then, knave, I will fit you. ^Exit, 

Grac, Whipt like a rogue ! no lighter punish- 
ment serve 
To balance with a little mirth I 'Tis well ; 
My credit sunk for ever, I am now 
Fit company only for pages and for footboys^ 
That have perused the porter's lodge *. 

Enter Julio and Giovanni. 

Glov, See, Julio, 
Yonder the proud dave is. How he looks now. 
After his castigation ! 

Jul, Let's be merry with him. 

Grac, How they stare at me ! am I turned to 
an owl? — 
The wonder, gentlemen ? 

Jul, I read, this morning. 
Strange stories of the passive fortitude 
Of men in former ages, which I thought 
Impossible, and not to be believed : 
But now I look on you, my wonder ceases. 

Grac. The reason, sir ? 

1 That have permed the porterU lodge."] i, e. thai have heen 
whipt there. The porter's lodge, in our author's days, when 
the great claimed, and, indeed, frequently exerdaed, the right 
of chastising their servant^ was the usual place of punishments— 

"^IFFORD. 



8C. !!• THE DUKE OF MILAN.' 61 

Jul. Why, sir, you have been whipt, 
Whipt, signior Graccho ; and the whip, I take it. 
Is to a gentleman the greatest trial 
That may be of his patience. 

Grac, Sir, I *11 call you 
To a strict account for this. 

Giov, 1 11 not deal with you. 
Unless I have a beadle for my second : 
And then I '11 answer you. 

Jul, Farewell, poor Graccho. 

[Exeunt Julio and Giovanni. 

Grac, Better and better still. If ever wrongs 
Could teach a wretch to find the way to vengeance^ 

Enter Francisco and a Servant. 

Hell now inspire me ! How, the lord protector ! 
My judge ; I thank him ! Whither thus in private ? 
I will not see him. [^Stands aside, 

Fran. If I am sought for. 
Say I am indisposed, and will not hear 
Or suits, or suitors. 

Serv. But, sir, if the princess 
Inquire, what shall I answer? 

Fran. Say, I am rid 
Abroad to take the air ; but by no means 
Let her know I 'm in court. 

Serv, So I shall tell her. [_Exit, 

Fran. Within there, ladies ! 

Enter a Gentlewoman, 

Gentlew, My good lord, your pleasure ? 

Fran. Prithee, let me beg thy favour for acci 
To the duchess. 

Gentlew. In good sooth, my lord, I dare not ; 
She *s very private. 



62 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT III. 

Fran. Come^ there's gold to buy the6 
A hew gown, and a rich one. — Where 's thy Ictdy ? 

Gentlew, She 's walking in the gallery. 

Fran, Bring me to her. 

Gentlerv. I fear you *11 have cold entertainment, 
when 
You are at your journey's end. 

\_Ejeeunt Fban. and Gentietv, 

Grac. A brave discovery beyond my hope, 
A plot even offer'd to my hand to work on ! 
If I am dull now, may I live and die 
The scorn of worms and slaves ! — Let me consider ; 
My lady and her mother first committed. 
In the favour of the duchess; and I whipt ! 
That, with an iron pen, is writ in brass 
On my tough heart, now grown a harder metal. — 
And sdl his bribed approaches to the duchess 
To be conceal'd ! good, good. This to my lady 
Deliver d, as I '11 order it, runs her mad.— 
But this may prove but courtship * ! let it be, 
I care not, so it feed her jealousy. ^Exit, 



SCENE III. 

Another Room in the same. 

Enter Marcelia and Francisco. 

Marc. Believe thy tears or oaths! can it be 
hoped. 
After a practice so abhorr'd and horrid. 
Repentance e'er can lind thee ? 

» Tills may prove but courtship! &,c.] This is, merely 
paying his court to hsr at) duchess. — M. Masox. 



8C. III. THF DUKE OF MILAN* 63 

Fran, Dearest lady. 
Great in your fortune, greater in your goodness. 
Make a superlative of excellence. 
In being greatest in your saving mercy. 
I do confess, humbly confess my fault. 
To be beyond all pity ; my attempt, 
So barbarously rude, that it would turn 
A saint-like patience into savage fury. 
But you, that are all innocence and virtue. 
No spleen or anger in you of a woman. 
But when a holy zeal to piety fires you. 
May, if you please, impute the fault to love ; 
A sin, a monstrous sin ! yet with it many 
That did provie good men after, have been tempted ; 
And, though I 'm crooked now, 'tis in your power 
To make me straight again. 

Marc, Is't possible 
This can be cUnning ! \^Aside. 

Fran, But, if no submission. 
Nor prayers can appease you, that you may know 
'Tis not the fear of death that makes me sue thus. 
But a loath'd detestation of my madness. 
Which makes me wish to live to have your pardon ; 
I will not wait the sentence of the duke. 
Since his return is doubtful, but I myself 
Will do a fearful justice on myself. 
No witness by but you, there being no more. 
When I offended. Yet, before I do it. 
For I perceive in you no signs of mercy, 
I will disclose a secret, which, dying with me, 
^lay prove your ruin. 

Marc. Speak it ; it will take from 
The burden of thy conscience. 

Frail, Thus, then, madam : 



64 THE DUKE OP MILAN. ACT III. 

The warrant by my lord sign'd for your deaths 
Was but conditioiial ; but you must swear 
By your unspotted truth not to reveal it^ 
Or I end here abruptly. 

Marc. By my hopes 
Of joys hereafter. On. 

Fran, Nor was it hate 
That forced him to it^ but excess of love. 
And, if I ne*er return^, (so said great Sfor^) 
No living man deserving to possess 
My best Marcelia, with thejirst news 
That I am dead, Jail not to kill he r 
But till certain proof 

Assure thee I am lost, (these were his words^) 
Observe and honour her, as if the soul 
Of woman s goodness only dwelt in hers. 
This trust 1 have abused^ and basely wrong'd ; 
And, if the excelling pity of your mind 
Cannot forgive it, as I dare not hope it^ 
Rather than look on my offended lord, 
I stand resolved to punish it. ^Draws his sword. 

Marc. Hold ! 'tis forgiven, 
And by me freely pardon'd. In thy fair life 

' And if I ne^er return, Sijc] I have regulated this speech, 
which was exceedingly harsh and confused in all the printed 
copies, according to Massinger^s manuscript oorrections. The 
repetitions must be attributed to the embarrassed state of 
Francisco*s mind. 

In the seventh line, the poet has altered " teal of woman's 
goodness," (the reading of all the copies,) to souL No sagacity 
in another could have furnished this most happy emendation, 
which now appears so necessary, and so obvious. I have been 
tempted to smile in the course of this revision at the surprising 
gravity with which we sometimes labour to explain the unin« 
telligiblc blunders of u careless compositor.— -O iff ORD. 



8C. IH. THE DUKE OF MILAN^. 65 

Hereafter, study to deserve this bounty. 
Which thy true penitence, such I believe it. 
Against my resolution hath forced from me. — 
But that my lord, my Sforza, should esteem 
IVIy life fit only as a page, to wait on 
The course of his uncertain fortunes, grieves me ; 
Nor does his envy less deserve mine anger. 
Which though, such is my love, I would not 

nourish. 
Will slack the ardour that I had to see him 
Return in safety. 

Fran. But if your entertainment 
Should give the least ground to his jealousy. 
To raise up an opinion I am false. 
You then destroy your mercy. Therefore, madam, 
(Though I shall ever look on you as on 
iily life's preserver, and the miracle 
Of human pity,) would you but vouchsafe. 
In company, to do me those fair graces. 
And favours, which your innocence and honour 
May safely warrant, it would to the duke, 
I being to your best self alone known guilty, 
JVlake me appear most innocent. 

Marc. Have your wishes ; 
And something I may do to try his temper. 
At least to make him know a constant wife 
Is not so slaved to her husband's doting humours. 
But that she may deserve to live a widow. 
Her fate appointing it. 

Fran. It is enough; 
Nay, all I could desire; and will make way 
To my revenge, which shall disperse itself 
On him, on her, and all. 

\^Aside and exit, — Shout and flourish. 

VOL.. II. F 



66 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT III. 

Marc, What shout is that ? 

Enter Tiberio and Stephano. 

Tib. All happiness to the duchess^ that may 
flow 
From the duke's new and wish'd return ! 
Marc. He *s welcome. 
Steph. How coldly she receives it ! 
Tib. Observe the encounter. 

Flourish. Enter Sforza^ Pescara, Isabella, 
Mariana^ Gracgho^ and Attendants, 

Mari, What you have told me, Graccho, is 
believed, 
And I *11 find time to stir in 't. 

Grac. As you see cause ; 
I will not do ill offices. 

SJbr. I have stood 
Silent thus long, Marcelia, expecting 
When, with more than a greedy haste, thou 

wouldst 
Have flown into my arms, and on my lips 
Have printed a deep welcome. My desires 
To glass myself in these fair eyes have borne me 
With more than human speed ; nor durst I stay 
In any temple, or to any saint 
To pay my vows and thanks for my return. 
Till I had seen thee. 

Marc. Sir, I am most happy 
To look upon you safe, and would express 
IVIy love and duty in a modest fashion. 
Such as might suit with the behaviour 
Of one that is a wife ; nor can it wrong me 
To love discreetlv. 



8C. III. THE DUKE OF MILAN. ^1 

Sfor, How ! why, can there be 
A mean in your affections ? Do not move me ; 
My passions to you are in extremes. 
And know no bounds : — come ; kiss me. * 

Marc. I obey you. 

Sfor, By all the joys of love, she does salute me 
As if I were her grandfather ! What witch. 
With cursed spdls, hath quench'd the fervent 

love 
That lived upon these lips ? Tell me, Marcelia, 
And truly tell me, is 't a fault of mine 
That hath begot this coldness? or neglect 
Of others, in my absence ? 

Marc, Neither, sir: 
I stand indebted to your substitute. 
Noble and good Francisco, for his care 
And fair observance of me : there was nothing 
That I dare say I wanted. 
But^ sir, in troth, you are too great a doter. 
Let us love temperately ; things violent last not ; 
And too much dotage rather argues folly 
Than true affection. 

Grac. Observe but this. 
And how she praised my lord's care and observancf^ ; 
And then judge, madam, if my imtelligence 
Have any giound of truth. 

Mart, No more ; I mark it. 

Sleph. How the duke stands ! 

Tib. As he were rooted there. 
And had no motion. 

Peso, ]My lord, from whence 
Grows this amazement } 

Sfor, It is more^ dear my friend ; 
For I am doubtful whether I 've a being, 

f2 



1 



68 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT HI. 

But certain that my life 's a burden to me. 

Take me back^ good Pescara; show me to Caesar 

In all his rage and fury ; I disclaim 

His mercy : to live now, which is his gift, 

is worse than death, and with all studied torments. 

Marcelia is unkind ; nay, worse, grown cold 

In her affection ; my excess of fervour. 

Which yet was never equalled, grown distasteful. — 

But have thy wishes, woman ; thou shalt know 

That I can be myself, and thus shake off 

The fetters of fond dotage. From my sight. 

Without reply ; for I am apt to do 

Something I may repent. — [^Exit Marc. 3 — Oh ! 

who would place 
His happiness in most accursed woman. 
In whom obsequiousness engenders pride. 
And harshness deadly hatred ? From this hour 
I '11 labour to forget there are such creatures ; 
True friends be now my mistresses. Clear your 

brows. 
And, though my heart-strings crack for % I will be 
To all a free example of delight. 
We will have sports of all kinds, and propound 
Rewards to such as can produce us new ; 
Unsatisfied, though we surfeit in their store : 
And never think of cursed Marcelia more. 

[^Exeunt. 



ACT IT. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 69 

ACT IV. SCENE I. 

The same, A Room in the Castle, 

Enter Francisco and Graccho. 

Fran, And is it possible thou shouldst forget 
A wrong of such a nature^ and then study 
My safety and content ? 

Grac. Sir, but allow me 
Only to have read the elements of courtship * , 
Not the abstruse and hidden arts to thrive there^ 
And you may please to grant me so much know- 

ledge. 
That injuries from one in grace, like you. 
Are noble favours. Is it not grown common ', 
In every sect, for those that want, to suffer 
From such as have to give ? Your captain cast, 
If poor, though not thought daring, but approved 

so. 
To raise a coward into name, that 's rich. 
Suffers disgraces publicly, but receives 
Rewards for them in private. 

Fran, Well observed. 
Put on' ; we *11 be familiar, and discourse 
A little of this argument. That day 

• Of courtthip^ i. e. of court-policy. — M. Mason. 

" Is it not grown common, &c.] Graccho is an 

apt scholar: these notable observations are derived from the 
lessons of the officer in the last act — Gifford. 

3 Put o/i,] Be covered; a frequent expression in these 
plays. — GiJTORD. 



70 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT IV. 

In which it was first rumour'd, then confirm'd. 
Great Sforza thought me worthy of his favour, 
I found myself to be another thing. 
Not what I was before. I passed then 
For a pretty fellow, and of pretty parts too. 
And was perhaps received so ; but, once raised. 
The liberal courtier made me master of 
Those virtues which I ne'er knew in myself: 
If I pretended to a jest, 'twas made one 
By their interpretation ; if I offer'd 
To reason of philosophy, though absurdly. 
They had helps to save me, and without a blush 
Would swear that I, by nature, had more know- 
ledge 
Than others could acquire by any labour : 
Nay, all I did, indeed, which in another 
Was not remarkable, in me show'd rarely. 
Grac, But then they tasted of your bounty. 
Fran, True: 
They gave me those good parts I was not bom to ; 
And, by my intercession, they got that 
Which, had I cross'd them, they durst not have 
hoped for. 
Grac, All this is oracle : and shall I, then. 
For a foolish whipping, leave to honour him 
That holds the wheel of fortune ? no ; that savours 
Too much of the ancient freedom. Since great 

men 
Receive disgraces and give thanks, poor knaves 
Must have nor spleen nor anger. Though I love 
]M y limbs as well as any man, if you had now 
A humour to kick me lame into an office. 
Where I might sit in state and undo othersy 



8C. I. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 71 

Stood I not bound to kiss the foot that did it ? 
Though it seem strange^ there have been such 

things seen 
In the memory of man. 

Fran, But to the purpose ; 
And then^ that service done^ make thine own 

fortunes. 
My wife, thou say'st, is jealous I am too 
Familiar with the duchess. 

Grac, And incensed 
For her commitment in her brother's absence ; 
And by her mother's anger is spurr'd on 
To make discovery of it. This her purpose 
Was trusted to my charge, which I declined 
As much as in me lay ; but, finding her 
Determinately bent to undertake it, 
Though breaking my faith to her may destroy 
My credit with your lordship, I yet thought. 
Though at my peril, I stood bound to reveal it. 
Fran. I thank thy care, and will deserve this 

secret. 
In making thee acquainted with a greater. 
And of more moment. Come into my bosom. 
And take it from me: Canst thou think, dull 

Graccho, 
3Iy power and honours were conferr'd upon me. 
And add to them this form, to have ray pleasures 
Confined and limited ? I delight in change 
And sweet variety ; that 's my heaven on earth. 
For which I love life only. Therefore, Graccho, 
So far I am from stopping Mariana 
In making her complaint, that I desire thee 
To urge her to it. 



72 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT IV. 

Grac, That may prove your ruin ; 
The duke already being, as 'tis reported^ 
Doubtful she hath play'd false. 

Fran* There thou art cozen'd ; 
His dotage, like an ague, keeps his course. 
And now 'tis strongly on him. But I lose time ; 
And therefore know, whether thou wilt or no. 
Thou art to be my instrument ; and, in spite 
Of the old saw, that says. It is not safe 
On any terms to trust a man that 's wrong'd, 
I dare thee to be false. 

Grac. This is a language. 
My lord, I understand not. 

Fran, You thought, sirrah. 
To put a trick on me for the relation 
Of what I knew before ; and having won 
Some weighty secret from me, in revenge 
To play the traitor. Know, thou wretched thing. 
By my command thou wert whipt ; and every day 
( I '11 have thee freshly tortured, if thou miss 
In the least charge that I impose upon thee. 
Though what thou speak'st^for the most part, is true: 
Nay, grant thou hadst a thousand witnesses 
To be deposed they heard it, 'tis in me, 
With one word, such is Sforza's confidence 
Of my fidelity not to be shaken. 
To make all void, and ruin my accusers. 
Therefore look to 't ; bring my wife hotly on 
To accuse me to the duke— I have an end in't; 
Or think what 'tis makes man most miserable. 
And that shall fall upon thee. Thou wert a fool 
To hope, by being acquainted with my courses. 
To curb and awe me ; or that I should live 



8C. I. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 73 

Thy slave> as thou didst saucily divine : 
For prjdng in my counsels^ still live mine. [^Ej?it, 
Grac, I am caught on both sides. This 'tis for 

a puisne* x 

In Policy's Protean school^ to try conclusions 
With one that hath commenced^ and gone out 

doctor 2. 
If I discover what but now he bragg'd of, 
I shall not be believed : if I fall on 
From him, his threats and actions go together. 
And there 's no hope of safety. Till I get 
A plummet that may sound his deepest counsels, 
I must obey and serve him. Want of skill 
Now makes me play the rogue against my will. 

[^Eo'it. 

* Puisne^"] L e. puny, Freshraen at Oxford, where Mas- 
singer was educated, were sometimes called putties for the first 
year of their entering the University. 

' To try conclusions 

fVUh one that hath commenced, and gone out doctor.] To 
try conclusions, a very common expression, is, to try experU 
vtmts. Commenced, and gone out, which occur in the next 
line, are University terms, and to he met with in most of our 
old dramas. Graccho styles himself a puisne or freshman in 
the school of Pdicy, and Francisco one who had taken the 
highest degree of doctor. 



74 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT lY. 



SCENE II. 

Another Room in the same. 

Enter Marcelia, Tiberio^ Stephano> and 

Gentlewoman. 

Marc. Command me from his sights and with 
such scorn 
As he would rate his slave ! 

Tib, 'Twas in his fury. 

Steph. And he repents it^ madam. 

Marc. Was I bom 
To observe his humours ? or^ because he dotes^ 
Must I run mad ? 

Tib, If that your excellence 
Would please but to receive a feeling knowledge 
Of what he suffers^ and how deep the least 
Unkindness wounds from you^ you would excuse 
His hasty language. 

Steph. He hath paid the forfeit 
Of his offence^ I 'm sure^ with such a sorrow 
As, if it had been greater, would deserve 
A full remission. 

Marc, Why, perhaps he hath it ; 
And I stand more afflicted for his absence^ 
Than he can be for mine : — so, pray you, tell him. 
But, till I have digested some sad thoughts. 
And reconciled passions that are at war 
Within myself, I purpose to be private ; 
And have you care, unless it be Francisco^ 
That no man be admitted. ^Ejnt Gentlewoman. 



8C. II. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 75 

Tih.^owl Francisco? 

Stepn. These things concern not us ; yet if I were 
The duke^ (I freely must confess my weakness>) 

Enter Francisco. 

I should wear yellow hreeches^ Here he comes. 

Tib. Nay, spare your lahour^ lady; we know 
our exit. 
And quit the room. 

Stepk, Is this her privacy ! 
Though with the hazard of a check, perhaps, 
This may go to the duke. 

[^Exeunt Tiberio and Stephano. 

Marc. Your face is full 
Of fears and doubts : the reason ? 

Fran. O, best madam. 
They are not counterfeit. I, your poor convert. 
That only wish to live in sad repentance ; 
That have no ends nor aims, but that your good- 
ness 
Might be a witness of my penitence. 
Which seen, would teach you how to love your 

mercy. 
Am robb'd of that last hope. The duke, the duke, 
I more than fear, hath found that I am guilty. 

Marc. By my unspotted honour, not from me ; 
Nor have I with him changed one syllable. 
Since his return, but what you heard. 

Fran. Yet malice 
Is eagle-eyed, and would see that which is not ; ^ 
And jealousy's too apt to build upon 
Unsure foundations. 

> JVear yellow hreecTieSy'] i. e. he jealous ; yellow, with our 
old poets, being the livery of jealousy. — Gifford. 



7^ THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT IV. 

Marc, Jealousy! ^ 

Fran, [_Aside.^ It takes. 

Marc. Who dares but only think I can be 
tainted ? 
But for him, though almost on certain proofs 
To give it hearing, not belief, deserves 
My hate for ever. 

Fran, Whether grounded on 
Your noble yet chaste favours shown unto me. 
Or her imprisonment, for her contempt 
To you, by my command, my frantic wife 
Hath put it in his head. 

Marc. Have I then lived 
So long, now to be doubted ? Are my favours 
The themes of her discourse ? or what I do. 
That never trod in a suspected path. 
Subject to base construction ? Be undaunted ; 
For now, as of a creature that is mine, 
I rise up your protectress : all the grace 
I hitherto have done you was bestow'd 
With a shut hand ; it shall be now more free, 
Open, and liberal. But let it not. 
Though counterfeited to the life, teach you 
To nourish saucy hopes. 

Fran. May I be blasted. 
When I prove such a monster ! 

Marc, I will stand then 
Between you and all danger. He shall know. 
Suspicion overturns what confidence builds ; 
And he that dares but doubt when there's no 

ground 
Is neither to himself nor others sound. \_Exit, 

Fran, So, let it work ! Her goodness, that denied 
My service, branded with the name of love. 



SC. III. TH£ PUKB OF MILAN. 77 

Shall n|w destroy itself; and she sliall find« 

When to's a suitor^ that brings cunning arm'd 

With power to be his advocates^ the denial 

Is a disease as killing as the plague, 

And chastity a due that leads to death. 

Hold but thy nature, duke, and be but rash 

And violent enough^ and then at leisure 

Repent ; I care not. 

And let my plots produce this longed-for birth, V 

In my revenge I have my heaven on earth. [^Exil. 



SCENE III. 

Another Roofn iti the same. 

Enter Sforza, Pescara, and three Genthmen, 

Peso. You promised to be merry. 

1 Gent, There are pleasures^ 

And of all kinds, to entertain the time. 

2 Gent. Your excellence vouchsafing to make 

choice 
Of that which best affects you* 

Sfor. Hold your prating. 
Leium manners too ; you are rude. 

3 Gent. I have my answer 

Before I ask the question. [jiside. 

Pesc. I must borrow 
The privilege of a friend, and will ; or else 
I am like these, a servant ; or, what 's worse, 
A parasite to the sorrow Sforza worships 
In spite of reason. 

Sjfbr. Pray you, use your freedom ; 
And so far, if you please, allow me mine. 



78 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT IV. 

To hear you only^ not to be compell'd m 
To take your moral potions. I am a man ; 
And though philosophy, your mistress, rage for 't. 
Now I have cause to grieve^ I must be sad ; 
And I dare show it. 

Pesc, Would it were bestow'd 
Upon a worthier subject ! 

Sfor, Take heed, friend. 
You rub a sore whose pain will make me mad ; 
And I shall then forget myself and you. 
Lance it no further. 

Pesc. Have you stood the shock 
Of thousand enemies^ and outfaced the anger 
Of a great emperor, that vow'd your ruin. 
Though by a desperate, a glorious way. 
That had no precedent.? are you retum'd with 

honour. 
Loved by your subjects? does your fortune court 

you. 
Or rather say, your courage does command it ? 
Have you given proof, to this hour of your life. 
Prosperity, that searches the best temper. 
Could never puff you up, nor adverse fate 
Deject your valour ? Shall, I say, these virtues. 
So many and so various trials of 
Your constant mind, be buried in the frown 
(To please you, I will say so) of a fair woman ? 
— Yet I have seen her equals. 

SJbr, Good Pescara, 
This language in another were profane ; 
In you it is unmannerly. — Her equal ! 
I tell you as a friend, and tell you plainly, 
(To all men else my sword should make reply,) 
Her goodness does disdain comparison, 



8C. III. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 79 

And^ bi^ heradf^ admits no parallels 

But you will say she 's cross ; 'tis fit she should be^ 

When I am foolish ; for she 's wise^ Pescara^ 

And knows how far she may dispose her bounties^ 

Her honour safe ; or, if she were averse, 

'Twas a prevention of a greater sin 

Ready to fall upon me ; for she 's not ignorant. 

But truly understands how much I love her. 

And that Her rare parts do deserve all honour. 

Her excellence increasing with her years too, 

I might have fallen into idolatry. 

And, from the admiration of her worth. 

Been taught to think there is no Power above her ; 



1 Her goodness does disdain comparison^ 

Andy but Tterself^ admits no parallel.] The reader who 

has any acquaintance with tlie literary squabbles of the last 

century cannot but recollect how Theobald was annoyed by 

the jests levelled at him for this line in The Double Falsehood, 

'* None but himself can be his parallel.** 
He justified it, indeed, at some length; but '4t is not for 
gravity," as Sir Toby well observes, "to play at cherry-pit 
with Satan.*^ His waggish antagonists drove him out of his 
patience, and he, who had every thing but wit on his side, is at 
this moment labouring under the consequences of his imagined 
defeat. M''ith respect to the phrase in question, it is sufl[iciently 
common ; and I could produce, if it were necessary, twenty in- 
stances of it from Massinger^s contemporaries alone : nor is it 
peculiar to this country, but exists in every language with which 
I am acquainted. Even while I am writing this note, the fol- 
lowing pretty example lies before me, in the address of a grate- 
ful Hindoo to Sir Mllliam Jones: 

"To you there are many like me; yet to me there is none 
like yOH hut yourgelf: there are numerous groves of night- 
flowers; yet the night-flower sees nothing like the moon but 
t/te moon. A hundred chiefs rule the world ; but thou art an 
ocean, and they are mere wells : many luminaries are awake 
in the sky ; but which of them can be compared to the sun ?" — 
See Memoirs of his Lifi, by Lord Teignmouth. — Gifford. 



80 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT IV. 

And yet I do believe^ had angels sexes^ ^ 
The most would be such women^ and assume 
No other shape^ when they were to appear 
In their full glory. 

Pesc, Well, sir, I '11 not cross you. 
Nor labour to diminish your esteem. 
Hereafter, of her. Since your happiness. 
As you will have it, has alone dependence 
Upon her favour, from my soul I wish you 
A fair atonement*. 

SJbr. Time, and my submission. 

Enter Tiderio and Stephano. 

May work her to it. — O ! you are well retum'd : 
Say, am I blest ? hath she vouchsafed to hear you ? 
Is there hope left that she may be appeased ? 
Let her propound, and gladly I 'U subscribe 
To her conditions. 

Tib, She, sir, yet is froward. 
And desires respite and some privacy. 

Steph, She was harsh at first ; but, ere we parted, 
seem'd not 
Implacable. 

Sfor, There 's comfort yet. I 'U ply her 
Each hour with new ambassadors of more honours. 
Titles, and eminence : my second self, 
Francisco, shall solicit her. 

Steph, That a wise man. 
And what is more, a prince that may command. 
Should sue thus poorly, and treat with his wife 
As she were a victorious enemy 
At whose proud feet himself, his state, and country. 
Basely begg'd mercy ! 

* Atonement,'] L e. recondliatioiu 



8C. III. THE DUKE OF MILAN; 81 

Sfor. .What is that you mutter ? 
1 11 have thy thoughts. 

Steph. You shaU. You are too fond. 
And feed a pride that 's swollen too big already. 
And surfeits with observance. 

Sfor, O my patience ! 
My vassal speak thus ? 

Steph, Let my head answer it, 
If I offend. She, that you think a saint, 
I fear may play the devil. 

Peso, Well said, old fellow. - [jiside, 

Steph. And he that hath so long engrossed your 
favours. 
Though to be named with reverence, lord Francisco, 
Who, as you purpose, shall solicit for you, 
I think 's too near her. 

QSforza lays his hand on his sword. 

Peso, Hold, sir ! this is madness. 

Sfor, Let me go, 
I scorn to touch mm ; he deserves my pity. 
And not my anger. Dotard ! and to be one 
Is thy protection, else thou durst not think 
That love to my Marcelia hath left room 
In my full heart for any jealous thought : — 
That idle passion dwell with thick-skinn'd trades- 
men! 
Lock up thy own wife, fool. I smile to think 
What wretched things they are that dare be jealous. 
Were I match'd to another Messaline S 
While I found merit in myself to please her, 

» Messaline,'] The vrife of the Emperor Claudius. She was 
disgraced by the most abominable excesses of licentiousness and 
croelty, which have rendered her name infamous with posterity. 

VOL. II. O 



82 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT IV. 

I should believe her chaste^ and would not^eek 
To find out my own torment ; but^ alas ! 
Enjoying one tbat^ but to me, 'a a Dian, 
I am too secure. 

7^1*6. This is a confidence 
Beyond example. 

Enter G^iaccho, Isabella, and Mariana. 

Grac. There he is — now speak. 
Or be for ever sHent. 

SJbr. If you come 
To bring me comfort, say that you have made 
My peace with my Marcelia. 

I sab, 1 had rather 
Wait on you to your funeraL 

Sfor, You are my mother ; 
Or, by her life, you were dead else. 

Mart, Would you were, 
To your dishonour ! and, since dotage makes you 
Wilfully blind, borrow of me my eyes. 
Or some part of my spirit. Are you all flesh ? 
A lump of patience only ? no fire in you ? 
But do your pleasure : — ^here your mother was 
Committed by your servant, (for I scorn 
To call him husband,) and myself, your sister. 
If that you dare remember such a name, 
Mew'd up, to make the way open and free 
For the adulteress, I am unwilling 
To say a part of Sforza. 

Sfor, Take her head off! 
She hath blasphemed, and by our law must die. 

I sab. Blasphemed ! 

Sfor, What do I suffer I 



8C. III. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 83 

Mart. Is it treason 
For me^ that am a subject, to endeavour 
To save the honour of the duke^ and that 
He should not be disgraced on record ? 
For by posterity 'twill be believed. 
As certainly as now it can be proved, 
Francisco, the great minion, that sways all. 

To meet the chaste embraces of the duchess 

Sfor. Some proof, vile creature! or thou hast 

spoke thy last. 
Mart. Their hourly private meetings ; and e'en 

now. 
When, under a pretence of grief or anger. 
You 're made a stranger to her, at all times 
The door stands open to him. To a Dutchman, 
This were enough ; but to a right Italian, 
A hundred thousand witnesses. 

Sfor. O the malice 
And envy of base women, that, with horror. 
Knowing their own defects and inward guilt. 
Dare lie, and swear, and damn, for what's most 

false. 
To cast aspersions upon one untainted ! 
Ye are in your natures devils, and your ends. 
Knowing your reputation sunk for ever. 
And not to be recover'd, to have all 
Wear your black livery. Wretches! you have 

raised 
A monumental trophy to her pureness. 
In this your studied purpose to deprave her : 
And all the shot made by your foul detraction. 
Falling upon her sure-arm'd innocence. 
Returns upon yourselves; and, if my love 
Could suffer an addition, I 'm so far 

g2 



84 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT IV. 

From giving credit to you^ this would teach me 
More to admire and serve her. You are not 

worthy 
To fall as sacrifices to appease her ; 
And therefore live till your own envy hurst you. 

Isab. All is in vain ; he is not to be moved. 

Mart. She has bewitch'd him. 

Pesc. 'Tis so past belief. 
To me it shows a fable. 

Enter Francisco, speaking to a Servant within. 

Fran. On thy life. 
Provide my horses, and without the port 
With care attend me. 

Serv. rwtV/iiw.] I shall, my lord. 

Grac, He 's come. 
What gimcrack have we next ? 

Fran. Great sir. 

Sfor. Francisco. 

Fran. I would impart. 
Please you to lend your ear, a weighty secret 
I am in labour to deliver to you. 

S/or. All leave the room. \_Exeunt Isab. Mari. 
and Graccho.^ — Excuse me, good Pescara ; 
Ere long I will wait on you. 

Pesc. You speak, sir. 
The language I should use. \^Exit. 

Sfor. Be within call ; 
Perhaps we may have use of you. 

Tib. We shall, sir. V Exeunt Tib. and Steph. 

Sfor, Say on, my comfort. 

Fran. Comfort ! no, your torment ; 
For so my fate appoints me. I could curse 
The hour that gave me being. 



8C. III. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 85 

Sfor. What new monsters 
Of misery stand ready to devour me ? 
Let them at once despatch me. 

Fran, Draw your sword, then. 
And, as you wish your own peace, quickly kill me : 
Consider not, but do it. 

Sfor. Art thou mad ? 

Fran, Or, if to take my life be too much mercy. 
As death, indeed, concludes all human sorrows. 
Cut off my nose and ears ; pull out an eye. 
The other only left to lend me light 
To see my own deformities. Why was I bom 
Without some mulct imposed on me by nature ? 
Would from my youth a loathsome leprosy 
Had run upon this face, or that my breath 
Had been infectious, and so made me shunn'd 
Of all societies ! Cursed be he that taught me 
Discourse or manners, or lent any grace 
That makes the owner pleasing in the eye 
Of wanton women ! since those parts which others 
Value as blessings are to me afflictions. 
Such my condition is. 

Sfor. I am on the rack : 
Dissolve this doubtful riddle*. 

Fran. That I alone. 
Of all mankind, that stand most bound to love you, 
And study your content, should be appointed. 
Not by my will, but forced by cruel fate. 
To be your greatest enemy ! — Not to hold you 
In this amazement longer, in a word. 
Your duchess loves me. 



1 DUiolveA L e. tolve* Our old writers used the words 
iudiscriiiuDately. 



86 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT IV. 

Sfor, Loves thee ! 

Fran. Is mad for me^ 
Pursues me hourly. 

Sfcyr. Oh ! 

Fran, And from hence grew 
Her late neglect of you. 

Sfor, O women ! women ! 

Fran, I laboured to divert her by persuasion ; 
Then urged your much love to her, and the danger ; 
Denied her, and with scorn. 
I Sftyr, 'Twas like thyself. 

Fran, But when I saw her smile, then heard 
her say 
Your love and extreme dotage, as a cloak. 
Should cover our embraces, and your power 
Fright others from suspicion, (though I know 
That the relation kills in you all hope 
Of peace hereafter,) I could not but in duty 
Freely discover it. 

Sfor, Eternal plagues 
Pursue and overtake her ! for her sake. 
To all posterity may he prove like me, 
A thing so abject and so miserable 
As words may not express him, that gives trust 
To all-deceiving women ! 
No wise man ever, taught by my example. 
Hereafter use his wife with more respect 
Than he would do his horse that does him service ; 
Base woman being in her creation made 
A slave to man. — But, like a village nurse. 
Stand I now cursing and considerins, when 
The tamest fool would do! — Within there! Ste- 

phano, 
"Tiberio, and the rest ! 1 will be sudden ; 



SC. III. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 87 

And she shall know and feel, love in extremes 
Abused knows no degree in hate. 

Enter Tiberio and Stefhano. 

Tib. My lord. 

Sfor. Go to the chamber of that wicked woman — 

Sleph. What wicked woman, sir ? 

Sfor» The devil, my wife. 
Force a rude entry^ and if she refuse 
To follow you, drag her hither by the hair, I 

And know no pity ; any gentle usage 
To her will call on cruelty from me 
To such as show it. — Stand you staring ! Go, 
And put my will in act. 

Steph, There's no disputing. 

Tib, But 'tis a tempest, on the sudden raised. 
Who durst have dream'd of? 

[Exeunt TiberIo and Stephano. 

Sfor, Nay, since she dares damnation, 
1 11 be a fury to her. 

Fran. Yet, great sir. 
Exceed not in your fury ; she 's yet guilty 
Only in her intent. 

Sfor, Intent, Francisco ! 
It does include all fact ; and I might sooner 
Be won to pardon treason to my crown. 
Or one that kill'd my father. 

Fran, You are wise, 
And know what 's best to do : — yet, if you please. 
To prove her temper to the height, say only 
That I am dead, and then observe how far 
She '11 be transported. I '11 remove a little. 
But be within your call. — Now to the upshot ! 
Howe'er^ I '11 shift for one. [_As%de and exit. 



88 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT IV. 

Re-enter Tib£rio> Stephano^ and Guard with 

Marcelia. 

Marc, Where is this dreamer^ 
This walking tree of jealousy ? Oh ! are you here, 

sir? 
Is it hy your commandment or allowance 
I am thus basely used ? Which of my virtues^ 
My labours^ services^ and cares to please you — 
For^ to a man suspicious and unthankful^ 
Without a blush I may be mine own trumpet — 
Invites this barbarous course ? Dare you look on me 
Without a seal of shame ? 

Sfar, Impudence^ 
How ugly thou appear'st now ! Thy intent 
To be unfaithful leaves not blood enough 
To make an honest blush : what had the act done ? 

Marc. Retum'd thee the dishonour thou dc-> 
serv'st. 

Sfar, Your chosen favourite, your woo'd Fran- 
cisco, 
Has dearly paid for't; for, wretch! know he's 

dead. 
And by my hand. 

Marc, The bloodier villain thou ! 
But 'tis not to be wonder'd at, thy love 
Does know no other object : — thou hast kill'd, then, 
A man I do profess I loved ; a man 
4 For whom a thousand queens might well be rivals. 
But he, I speak it to thy teeth, that dares be 
A jealous fool, dares be a murderer. 
And knows no end in mischief, 

Sfor, 1 begin now 
In this my justice. [^Siabs her. 



8C. III. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 89 

Marc. Oh ! I liave fool'd myself 
Into my grave, and only grieve for that 
Which, when you know you 've slain an innocent, 
You needs must suffer. 

Sfor, An innocent ! Let one 
Call in Francisco ; — for he lives, vile creature, 

[Ejtnt Stephano. 
To justify thy falsehood, and how often. 
With wanton flatteries, thou hast tempted him. 

Re-enter Stephano. 

Steph. Signior Francisco, sir, hut even now 
Took horse without the ports. 

Marc. We are both abused. 
And both by him undone. Stay, Death, a little. 
Till I have clear'd me to my lord, and then 
I willingly obey thee. — O my Sforza ! 
Francisco was not tempted, but the tempter ; 
And, as he thought to win me, show'd the warrant 
That you sign'd for my death. 

Sfor. Then I believe thee ; 
Believe thee innocent too. 

Marc. But, being contemn'd. 
Upon his knees with tears he did beseech me 
Not to reveal it ; I^ sofuhearted ledt> 
Judging his penitence true, was won unto it : 
Indeed, the unkindness to be sentenced by you. 
Before that I was guilty in a thought, 
lilade me put on a seeming anger towards you. 
And now — behold the issue 1 As I do. 
May Heaven forgive you ! \J}tes. 

Tib. Her sweet soul has left 
Her beauteous prison. 



^P THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT V. 

Steph. Look to the duke ; he stands 
As if he wanted motion. 

Tib. Grief hath stopp'd 
The organ of his speech. 

Steph. Take up this hody. 
And call for his physicians. 

Sfor. O my heart-strings! {Exeunt^. 



ACT V. SCENE I. 

The Milanese. A Room in EuoeniaV House. 

Enter Francisco^ and Eugenia in male attire. 

Fran, Why, couldst thou think, Eugenia, that 
rewards, 
Oraces, or favours, though strew'd thick upon me. 
Could ever hribe me to forget mine honour ? 
Or that I tamely would sit down, before 
I had dried these eyes, still wet with showers of 

tears. 
By the fire of my revenge ? Look up, my dearest ! 
For that proud fair, that, thief-like, stepm'd between 
Thy promised hopes^ and robb'd thee of a fortune 
Almost in thy possession, hath found. 
With horrid proof, his love, she thought her glory. 
And an assurance of all happiness^ 
But hasten*d her sad ruin. 

Eug. Do not flatter 
A grief that is beneath it ; for, however 
The credulous duke to me proved &lse and cruel, 

1 Ford has imitated this fine scene, to which a parallel will 
not easily be found, in TheLady*8 Trial; but with atlittle toccess 
as judgment.— OirroRD. 



8C. I. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 91 

It is impossible he coiild be wrought 

To look on her^ but with the eyes of dotage^ 

And so to serve her. 

Fran, Such^ indeed^ I grants 
The stream of his affection was, and ran 
A constant course, till I, with cunning malice— 
And yet I wrong my act, for it was justice — 
Made it turn backward, and hate, in extremes, 
(Love banish'd from his heart,) to fill the room : 
In a word, know the fair Marcelia's dead. 

Eug. Dead! 

Fran, And by Sforza's hand. Does it not move 
you? ,.;^- 
How coldly you receive it ! I expected 
The mere relation of so great a Uessing, 
Borne proudly on the wings of sweet revenge. 
Would have call'd on a sacrifice of thanks. 
And joy not to be bounded or conceal'd. 
You entertain it with a look, as if 
You wish'd it were undone. 

Eug, Indeed I do : 
For, if my sorrows could receive addition. 
Her sad fate would ipcrease, not lessen them. 
She never injured me, but entertain'd 
A fortune humbly offer'd to her hand. 
Which a wise lady gladly would have kneel'd for. 
Unless you would impute it as a crime. 
She was more fair than I, and had discretion 
Not to deliver up her virgin fame. 
Though strait besieged with flatteries, vows, and 

tears. 
Until the church had made it safe and lawful. 
And had I been the mistress of her judgment 
And constant temper, skilful in the knowledge ' . 



92 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT V. 

Of inan*8 malicious falsehood^ I had never^ 
Upon his hell-deep oaths to many me, 
Oiven up my fair name and my maiden honour 
To his foul passion ; nor lived now^ being branded^ 
The scorn of all good women. 

Fran. Have you then no gall. 
Anger, or spleen, familiar to your sex } 
Or is it possible that you could see 
Another to possess what was your due^ 
And not grow pale with envy ? 

Eug, Yes, of him 
That did deceive me. There 's no passion, that 
A maid so injured ever could partake of. 
But I have dearly suffer'd. I '11 hazard all 
Fate can inflict on me, but I will reach 
Thy heart, false Sforza ! — You have trifled with me. 
And not proceeded with that fiery zeal 
I look'd for from a brother of your spirit. 
Sorrow forsake me, and all signs of grief 
Farewell for ever ! Vengeance, arm'd with fury. 
Possess me wholly now ! 

Fran. The reason, sister. 
Of this strange metamorphosis ? 

Eug, Adk thy fears. 
Thy base, unmanly fears, thy poor delays. 
Thy dull forffetfulness equal with death ; 
My wrong, else, and the scandal which can never 
Be wash'd off from our house but in his blood. 
Would have stirr'd up a coward to a deed 
In which, though he had fallen, the brave intent 
Had crown'd itself with a fair monument 
Of noble resolution. In this shape 
I hope to get access ; and then with shame^ 
Hearing my sudden execution, judge 



8C. I. THE DUKE OF MILAl>f. 03 

WhKt honour tHou hast lost in being transcended 
By a weak woman. 

Fran. Still mine own^ and dearer ! 
And yet in this you but pour oil on fire^ 
And offer your assistance where it needs not ; 
And^ that you may perceive I lay not fallow^ 
But had your wrongs stamp'd deeply on my hearty 
I did begin his tragedy in her deaths 
To whi<3i it served as prologue^ and will make 
A memorable story of your fortunes 
In my assured revenge : only^ best sister^ 
Let us not lose ourselves in the performance 
By your rash undertaking ; we will be 
As sudden as you could wish. 

Eug, Upon those terms 
I yield myself and cause to be disposed of 
As you think fit* 

Enter a Servant, 

Fran. Thy purpose ? 

Serv, There 's one Graccho, 
That follow'd you, it seems^ upon the track. 
Since you left Milan, that 's importunate 
To have access, and will not be denied : 
His haste, he says, concerns you. 

Fran. Bring him to me. [Ea^it Servant. 

Though he hath laid an ambush for my life 
Or apprehension, yet I will prevent him. 
And work mine own ends out. 

Enter Graccho. 

Grac. Now for my whipping ! 
And if I now outstrip him not and catch him. 



94 tf'HE DUKE OF MILAN. aOT V. 

And by a new and strange way too, hereafter 

I 'U swear there are worms in my brains. {^Aside, 

Fran, Now, my good Ghraccbo I 
We meet as 'twere by miracle. 

Grac. Love, and duty. 
And vigilance in me for my lord's safety. 
First taught me to imagine you were here. 
And then to follow you. All's come forth, my 

lord. 
That you could wish conceal'd. The duchess' 

wound. 
In the duke 's rage put home, yet gave her leave 
To acquaint him with your practices, which your 

flight 
Did easily confirm. 

Fran, This I expected: 
But sure you come provided of good counsel, 
To help in my extremes. 

Grac, I would not hurt you. 

Fran, How ! hurt me ? such another word 's thy 
death. 
Why, dar'st thou think it can fall in thy will 
To outlive what I determine ? 

Grac, How he awes me ! [^Aside. 

Fran, Be brief; what brought thee hither ? 

Grac, Care to inform you 
You are a condemned man, pursued and sought for. 
And your head rated at ten thousand ducats 
To him that brings it. 

Fran. Very good. 

Grac. All passages 
Are intercepted, and choice troops of horse 
Scour o'er the neighbour plains ; your picture sent 
To every state confederate with Milan : 



M. t. T&E DUKfi OF MILAN. 95 

That, though I grieve to speak it, in my judgment. 
So thick your dangers meet, and run upon you. 
It is impossible you should escape 
Their curious search. 

Eug, Why, let us then turn Romans, 
And, falling by our own hands, mock their threats 
And dreadful preparations. 

Fran, 'T would show nobly; 
But that the honour of our full revenge 
Were lost in the rash action. No, Eugenia, 
Graccho is wise, my friend too, not my servant. 
And I dare trust him with my latest secret. 
We would, and thou must help us to perform it. 
First kill the duke — then^ fall what can upon us ! 
For injuries are writ in brass, kind Graccho, 
And not to be forgotten. 

Grac. He instructs me 
What I should do. lAside, 

Fran, What's that? 

Grac. I labour with 
A strong desire to assist you with my service ; 
And now I am delivered oft. 

Fran. I told you. — 
Speak, my oraculous Graccho. 

Grac. I have heard, sir. 
Of men in debt that, lay'd for by their creditors 
In all such places where it could be thought 
They would take shelter, chose, for sanctuary. 
Their lodgings underneath their creditors' noses. 
Or near that prison to which they were design'd 
If apprehended, confident that there 
They never should be sought for. 

Eug, 'Tis a strange one ! 

Fran, But what infer you from it ? 



96 THE DUKE OF MILAN* ACT V. 

Grac. This, my lord : 
That^ since all ways of your escape are stopp'd 
In Milan only^ or^ what 's more^ in the courts 
Whither it is presumed you dare not come^ 
Conceal'd in some disguise ydU may live safe. 

Fran. And not to be discover'd ? 

Grac, But by myself. 

Fran, By thee! Alas! I know thee honesty 
Graccho^ 
And I will put thy counsel into act. 
And suddenly. Yet, not to be ungrateful 
For all thy loving travail to preserve me, 
What bloody end soe'er my stars appoint. 
Thou shalt be safe, good Graccho. — Who 's within 
there } 

Grac, In the devil's name, what means he ! 

Enter Servants, 

Fran, Take my friend 
Into your custody, and bind him fast : 
I would not part with him. 

Grac, My good lord. 

Fran, Despatch: 
'Tis for your good, to keep you honest, Graccho : 
I would not have ten thousand ducats tempt you, 
Being of a soft and waxlike disposition. 
To play the traitor ; nor a foolish itch 
To be revenged for your late excellent whipping 
Give you the opportunity to offer 
My head for satisfaction. Why, thou fool ! 
I can look through and through thee : thy intents 
Appear to me as written in thy forehead 
In plain and easy characters : and but that 
I scorn a slave's base blood should rust that sword 



8C. It« THE DUKE OF MILAM« 97 

That from a prince expects a scarlet dye. 
Thou now wert dead ; but live, only to pray 
For good success to crown my undertakings ; 
And then, at my return, perhaps I '11 free thee. 
To make me further sport. Away with him ! 
I will not hear a syllable. 

\JExeuni Servants with Gbaccho* 
We must trust 
Ourselves, Eugenia ; and though we make use of 
The counsel of our servants, that oil spent. 
Like snuffs that do offend, we tread them out. — 
But now to our last scene, which we 11 so carry. 
That few shall understand how 'twas begun. 
Till aU, with half an eye, may see 'tis done. 

{Exeunt^ 

SCENE II. 

Milan, A Room in the Castle, 

Enter Pescara, Tiberio, and Stephanov. 

Pesc. The like was never read of, 

Steph. In my judgment. 
To all that shall but hear it^ 'twill appear 
A most impossible fable. 

Tib, For Francisco, 
My wonder is the less, because there are 
Too many precedents of unthankful men 
Raised up to greatness, which have after studied 
The ruin of their makers. 

Steph. But that melancholy. 
Though ending in distraction, should work 
So far upon a man a& to compel him 

VOL. II. o 



To court a thing that has nor sense nor being, 
Is unto" me a miracle. 

Pesc, 'Troth, I 'U tell you. 
And briefly as I can, by what degrees 
He fell into this madness. When, by the care 
Of his physicians, he was brought to life. 
As he had only pass'd a fearful dream, 
And had not acted what I grieve to think on. 
He call'd for fair Marcelia, and being told 
That she was dead, he broke forth in extremes, 
(I would not say blasphemed,) and cried that Heaven, 
For all the offences that mankind could do. 
Would never be so cruel as to rob it 
Of so much sweetness, and of so much goodness ; 
That not alone was sacred in herself. 
But did preserve all others innocent 
That had but converse with her. Then it came 
Into his fancy that she was accused 
By his mother and his sister ; thrice he cursed them. 
And thrice his desperate hand was on his sword 
T 'have kill'd them both ; but he restrain'd, and they 
Shunning his fury, spite of all prevention 
He would have tum'd his rage upon himself; 
When wisely his physicians, looking on 
The duchess' wound, to stay his ready hand. 
Cried out it was not mortal. 

Tib. 'Twas well thought on. 

Pesc. He easily believing what he wish'd. 
More than a perpetuity of pleasure 
In any object else ; flatter'd by hope. 
Forgetting his own greatness, he fell prostrate 
At the doctors' feet, implored their aid, and swore^ 
Provided they recover'd her, he would lire 
A private man, and they should share bis dukedom. 



8C. II* THE DUKE OF MILAN. 99 

They leem'd to promise fidr^ and every hour 
Vary their judgments, as they find his fit 
To suffer intermission or extremes : 
For his behaviour since 

Sfor, [withinJ] As you have pity. 
Support her gently. 

Peso, Now be your own witnesses ; 
I am ]H«vented. 

Enter Sforza, Ii^abella, Mariana, Doctors and 
Servants with the body o/*Margelia. 

Sfor. Carefully, I beseech vou. 
The gentlest touch torments her ; and then think 
What I shall suffer. O you earthly gods. 
You second natures, that from your great master, 
Who join'd the limbs of torn Hippolitus, 
And drew upon himself the Thunderer's envy. 
Are taught those hidden secrets that restore 
To life death-wounded men ! you have a patient 
On whom to express the excellence of art 
Will bind even Heaven your debtor, though it pleases 
To make your hands the organs of a work 
The saints will smile to look on, and good angels 
Clap their celestial wings to give it plaudits. — 
How pale and wan she looks ! — O pardon me 
That I presume (dyed o'er with bloody guilt. 
Which makes me, I confess, far, far unworthy) 
To touch this snow-white hand. How cold it is ! 
This once was Cupid's fire-brand, and still 
Tis so to me. How slow her pulses beat too ! 
Yet in this temper she is all perfection. 
And mistress of a heat so full of sweetness, 

n2 



]00 THE DUKE OF MILikN« ACT V. 

The blood of virgins, in their pride of youth. 
Are balls of snow or ice compared unto her. 

Mart, Is not this strange ? 

Isah, Oh ! cross him not, dear daughter ; 
Our conscience tells us wc have been abused. 
Wrought to accuse the innocent, and with him 
Are guilty of a fact 

Enter a Servant, and whispers Pescara. 

Mari, 'Tis now past help. 

Pesc. With me ? What is he ? 

Serv, He has a strange aspect ; 
A Jew by birth, and a physician 
By his profession, as he says, who, hearing 
Of the duke's frenzy, on the forfeit of 
His life will undertake to render him 
Perfect in every part ; — provided that 
Your lordship's favour gain him free access. 
And your power with the duke a safe protection. 
Till the great work be ended. 

Pesc, Bring me to him. 
As I find cause, I '11 do. [^Exeunt Pesc. and Serv. 

Sfor. How sound she sleeps ! 

Heaven keep her from a lethargy ! How long 

(But answer me with comfort, I beseech you) 
Does your sure judgment tell you that these lids. 
That cover richer jewels than themselves. 
Like envious night, will bur these glorious suns 
From shining on me ? 

1 Doct. We have given her, sir, 
A sleepy potion that will hold her long, 
That she may be less sensible of the torment 
The searching of her wound will put her to. 



«ci II. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 101 

2 Doct, She now feels little ; but, if we should 
wake her. 
To hear her speak would fright both us and you. 
And therefore dare not hasten it. 

Sfor. I am patient. 
You see I do not rage, but wait your pleasure. 
What do you think she dreams of now ? for sure. 
Although her body's organs are bound fast. 
Her fancy cannot slumber. 

1 Doct. That, sir, looks on 
Your sorrow for your late rash act with pity 
Of what you suffer for it, and prepares 
To meet the free confession of your guilt 
With a glad pardon. 

Sjbr. She was ever kind ; 
And her displeasure, though called on, short-lived ^ 
Upon the least submission. O you Powers, 
That can convey our thoughts to one another 
Without the aid of eyes or ears, assist me ! 
Let her behold me in a pleasing dream [Kneels, 
Thus, on my knees before her ; (yet that duty 
In me is not sufficient;) let her see me 
Ck)mpel my mother, from whom I took life. 
And this my sister, partner of my being. 
To bow thus low unto her ; let her hear us 
In my acknowledgment freely confess 
That we in a degree as high are guilty 
As she is innocent. Bite your tongues, vile. 

creatures. 
And let your inward horror fright your souls. 
For having belied that pureness, to come near which 
All women that posterity can bring forth 
Must be, though striving to be good, poor rivals. 
And for that dog Francisco> that seduced me. 



102 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT V« 

In wounding her^ to rase a temple built 
To chastity and sweetness^ let her know 
I '11 follow him to hell but I will find him^ 
And there live a fourth Fury to torment him. 
Then^ for this cursed hand and arm that guided 
The wicked steely I ''11 have them, joint by joint, 
With burning irons sear'd off, which I will eat, 
I being a vulture fit to taste such carrion. 
Lastly 

1 Doct. You are too loud, sir; you disturb 
Her sweet repose. 

Sfor, I am hush'd. Yet give us leave. 
Thus prostrate at her feet, our eyes bent down- 
wards. 
Unworthy, and ashamed, to look upon her. 
To expect her gracious sentence. 

2 Doct, He 's past hope. 

1 DacL The body, too, will putrify, and then 
We can no longer cover the imposture 

Tib, Which in his death will quickly be dis- 
cover d. 
I can but weep his fortune. 

Steph, Yet be careful 
You lose no minute to preserve him ; time 
May lessen his distraction. 

Re-enter Pescara, with Francisco as a Jew 
doctor^ and Eugenia disguised as before, 

Fran, I am no god, sir. 
To give a new life to her ; yet I 'U hazard 
IVIy head I '11 work the senseless trunk t' appear 
To him as it had got a second being. 
Or that the soul that 's fled from 't were call'd back 
To govern it again. I will preserve it 



SC, H. . THE ,DUKE OF MILAK- J 03 

In the first sweetness^ and by a strange vapour. 

Which I '11 infuse into her mouth, create 

A seeming breath: I'll make her veins run high 

too. 
As if they had true motion. 

Peso. Do but this. 
Till we use means to win upon his passions 
T' endure to bear she 's dead with some small 

patience^ 
And make thy own reward. 

Fran. The art I use 
Admits ho looker on : I only ask 
The fourth part of an hour to perfect that 
I boldly undertake. 

Pesc, I will procure it. 

2 Doct. What stranger 's this ? 

Pesc, Sooth me in all I say; 
There *s a main end in it. 

Fran. Beware I 

Eug. I am wam'd. 

Pesc. Look up, sir, cheerfully; comfort in me 
Flows strongly to you. 

Sfor, From whence came that sound ? 
Was it from my Marcelia ? If it were, i^Rises, 
1 rise, and joy will give me wings to meet it. 

Pesc. Nor shall your expectation be deferr'd 
But a few minutes. Your physicians are 
Mere voice, and no performance ; I have found 
A man that can do wonders. Do not hinder 
The duchess' wish'd recovery, to inquire 
Or what he is, or to give thanks, but leave him 
To work this miracle. 

SJbr, Sure 'tis my good angel. 
I do obey in all things : be it death 



104 THE DUKE OF MILikN. ACT V. 

For any to disturb him, or come near. 

Till he be pleased to call us. O be prosperous. 

And make a duke thy bondman ! 

^Exeunt all but Francisco and Eugenia. 

Fran. Tis my purpose ; 
If that to fall a long-wish'd sacrifice 
To my revenge can be a benefit. 
I *11 first make fast the doors ; — so ! 

Eug, You amaze me : 
What follows now ? 

Fran, A full conclusion 
Of all thy wishes. Look on this, Eugenia; 
Even such a thing the proudest fair on earth 
(For whose delight the elements are ransack'd. 
And art with nature studied to preserve her,) 
Must be when she is summoned to appear 
In the court of Death. But I lose time. 

Eug, AVhat mean you ? 

Fran. Disturb me not. — Your ladyship looks 
pale; 
But I, your doctor, have a ceruse for you. — 
See, my Eugenia, how many faces. 
That are adored in court, borrow these helps, 

[^Paints the face. 
And pass for excellence when the better part 
Of them are like to this. — 
These hands too, that disdain'd to take a touch 
From any lip whose owner writ not lord. 
Are now but as the coarsest earth ; but I 
Am at the charge, my bill not to be paid too. 
To give them seeming beauty. {Paints the hand*.^ 

— So! 'tis done. 
How do you like my workmanship P 

Eug. 1 tremble: 



tC» II. THE DUKE OF MILAN. 105 

And thus to tymuiiEe upon the dead <^ 

Is most inhnman. 

Fran. Come we for revenge. 
And can we think on pity ? Now to the upshot ; 
And, as it proves, applaud it.— My lord the duke ! 
Enter with joy, and see the sudden change 
Your servant's hand hath wrought. 

Re-enter Sfobza and the resU 

Sfbr. I live again 
In mj full ocmfidence that Marcdia may 
Pronounce my pardon. Can she speak yet ? 

Fran. No: 
You must not look for all your joys at once : 
That will ask longer time. 

Pesc* 'Tis wondrous strange 1 ' 

Sfor, By all the dues of fove I have had firom 
her. 
This hand seems as it was when first I kiss'd it. 
These lips invite too : I could ever feed 
Upon these roses, they still keep their colour 
And native sweetness : only the nectar 's wanting. 
That, like the morning dew in flowery May, 
Preserved them in theur beauty. 

Enter GragcAo hastily, 

Grac, Treason, treason ! 
Tib, Call up the guard. 
Fran* Graccho ! then we are lost. [^ Aside. 

Enter Guard, 

Grac. I am got off, sir Jew ; a bribe hath done 
it. 



A N^ v^ 



For all your serious charge ; there *s no disguise 
Can keep you from my knowledge. 

Sfor. Speak. 

Graci I am out of hreath^ 
But this is 

Fran, Spare thy lahour, fool> — Francisco ^ 

AIL Monster of men ! 

Fran, Give me all attributes 
Of all you can imagine, yet I glory 
To be the thing I was bom. I am Francisco ; 
Francisco, that was raised by you, and made 
The nunion of the time ; the same Francisco, 
J^ase. art hath breathed a jealousy upon thee, 
""As killing as those damps that belch out plagues 
When the foundation of the earth is shaken : 
I made thee do a deed Heaven will not pardon. 
Which was — to kill an innocent. 

Sfor, Call forth the tortures 
For all that flesh can feel. 

Fran, I dare the worst. 
Only,. to yield some reason to the world 
Why I pursued this course, look on this face. 
Made old by thy base falsehood : 'tis Eugenia. 

Sfor, Eugenia! 

Fran, Does it start you, sir } my sister, 

» Fran. Spare thy labour, focly — Frandtco.'] Francisco^s 
bold avowal of his guilt, with an emphatical repeddon of his 
name, and the enunaeration of his several acts of villany, 
which he justifies from a spirit of revenge^ in all probability 
gave rise to one of the naost animated scenes in dramatic poetry. 
The reader will easily see that I refer to the last act of Dr. 
Young*.s Revenge^ where Zanga, like Francisco, defends every 
cruel and treacherous act he has committq.d from a principle of 
deep resentment. — Davies. 



Seduced and fool'd by thee : but thou must pay 
The forfeit of thy falsehood. Does it not work 

yet?— 
Whatever becomes of me, which I esteem not. 
Thou art mark'd for the grave : I 've given thee 

poison 
In this cupS now observe me, which, thy love 
Carousing deeply of, made thee forget 
Thy vow'd faith to Eugenia. 

Peso, O damn'd villain ! 

Isab. How do you, sir ? 

Sfor, Like one 
That learns to know in death what punishment 
Waits on the breach of faith. Oh 1 now I feel 
An iEtna in my entrails. — I have lived 
A prince, and my last breath shall be command. 
— I bum, I bum ! yet ere life be consumed. 
Let me pronounce upon this wretch all torture 
That witty cruelty can invent. 

Peso. Away with him ! 

Tib. In all things we will serve you. 

Fran. Farewell, sister ! 
Now I have kept my word, torments I scorn : , 

I leave the world with glory. They are men. 
And leave behind them name and memory. 
That, wrong'd, do right themselves before they die. 

[^Exeunt Guard with Francisco. 

Steph. A desperate wretch ! 

> In tfi%8 cifp,] i. e. in the lips of Marcelia, This is a 
terrible scene, and has the air of being taken from some Italian 
story. The circumstance of rubbing poison on the lips of a 
dead beauty occurs in a dreadful passage in the Revenger^s 
Tragedy^ by Cyril Toumer, 1609. There, too, the Duke is 
poisoned by kissing them. — Gifford. 



108 THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACT V. 

Sfor, I come : Death ! I obey thee. 
Yet I will not die raging ; for, alas ! 
My whole life was a frenzy. Gkxid Eugenia, 
In death forgive me. — As you love me, bear her 
To some religious house, there let her spend 
The remnant of her life : when I am ashes. 
Perhaps she '11 be appeased, and spare a prayer 
For my poor soul. Bury me with Marcelia, 
And let our epitaph be—- — [[Die*. 

Tib, His speech is stopp'd. 

Sleph, Already dead ! 

Pesc, It is in vain to labour 
To call him back. We 'U give him funeral. 
And then determine of the state affairs : 
And learn, from this example. There 's no trust 
In a foundation that is built on lust. {^Exeunt, 



THE 

CITY MADAM. 



The City Madam.] This admirable comedy was licensed 
by Sir Henry Herbert, May 25, 1632, and acted by the king's 
company. It is not easy to speak in appropriate terms of praise 
of this production : it exhibits equal copiousness of matter and 
power of thought. The circumstantial detail of the manners of 
the age, the impression with which the moral lessons are con- 
veyed, and the strong incidoits with which the scenes abound, 
fill the mind with variety of excellence. It is a powerful and 
masterly composition, and has the effect of history, satire, and 
comedy united. 

The play was received with great applause at its first repre- 
sentation, but was not printed till 1659. Alterations of it 
have been made more than once in modem times, and produced 
at different theatres, but with little success. Of those the best, 
perhaps, is Sir J. B. Burges's play of Riches, in which Mr. 
Kean performed Luke with considerable effect. 



TO 
THE TRULY NOBLE AND VIRTUOUS 

LADY ANN, COUNTESS OF OXFORD*. 

HONOURED LADY, 

In that age when wit and learning weie not conquered by 
injury and violence, this poem was the dbject of love and 
commendations ; it being composed by an infallible pen, and 
censured by an unerring auditory; In this epistle I shall not 
need to midce an apology for plays in general, by exhibitirig 
their antiquity and utility: in a word, they are mirror» or 
glasses which none but deformed faces and fouler consciences 
fear to look into. The encouragement I had to prefer this 
dedication to your powerful protection proceeds from the uni- 
versal fame of the deceased author, who (although he composed 
many) wrote none amiss, and this may justly be ranked among 
his best. I have redeemed it from the teeth of Time by com- 
mitting of it to the press, but more in imploring your patron- 
age. I will not slander it with my praises : it is commendation 
enough to call it Massinger's. If it may gain your allow- 
ance and pardon, I am highly gratified, and desire only to 
wear the happy title of, 

Madam, 

your most humble servant, 

ANDREW PENNYCUICKE. 

> Daughter of Paul, ViscoHnt Binnyng, and wife of Aubrey 
de \'ere, Earl of Oxford, 



DRAMATIS PERSON.E. 

Lord Lact. 

Sir John Fruoal, a mercfiant. 

Sir Maurice Lacy, son to Lord Lacy. 

Mr. Plenty, a country gentleman, 

Luke Frugal, brother to Sir John. 

GoLDWiRE senior^ } ^ ^, 

Tradewell smhr, I ^'"^ gentlemen, 

GoLDW IRE Junior, 7 their sons, apprentices to Sir John 
Tradewell Jw/iior, J Frugal. 
Stargaze, an astrologer. 
Hoyst, a decayed gentleman. 

Holdfast, steward to Sir John Frugal. 

DlKG^EM. 

Gettall, a box-keeper^. 

Paget Sheriff, Marshal, Serjeants* 

Laby Frugal. 

Milliscent, her xvoman* 

Shave'em. 

Secret. 

Orpheus, Charon, Cerberus, Chorus, Musicians, Porters, 

Servants, 

SC£N£» London. 



* A box'keeper,] This important personage in the estahlish- 
ment of a gaming-house never plays, but is seated in a box, or 
elevated chair, where he declares the state of the game, the 
odds, and the success of the parties.^GirFoaD. 



THE 

CITY MADAM. 



ACT I. SCENE L 

A Room in Sir John Frugal'^ House. 

Enter Goldwire junior and Tr ade well jwwJor. 

Gold. The ship is safe in the Pool then ? 

Trade. And makes good^ 
In her rich fraught, the name she bears. The 

Speedwell : 
My master will find it ; for, on my certain know- 
ledge. 
For every hundred that he ventured in her. 
She hath retum'd him five. 

Gold. And it comes timely ; 
For, besides a payment on the nail for a manor 
Late purchased by my ipaster, his young daughters 
Are ripe for marriage. 

Trade. Who? Nan and Mall? 

Gold Mistress Anne and Mary, and with some 
addition. 
Or 'tis more punishable in our house 
Than scandalum magnatum. 

Trade. 'Tis great pity 

VOL. II. I 



114 THE CITY MADAM, ACT I. 

Such a gentleman as my master (for that title 
His being a citizen cannot take from him) 
Hath no male heir to inherit his estate^ 
And keep his name alive. 

Gold. The want of one 
Swells my young mistresses^ and their madam- 
mother^ 
With hopes above their birth and scale: their 

dreams are ^ 
Of being made countesses ; and they take state 
As they were such already. When you went 
To the Indies^ there was some shape and proportion 
Of a merchant's house in our family ; but since 
My master^ to gain precedency for my mistress. 
Above some elder merchants* wives, was knighted, 
'Tis grown a little court in bravery. 
Variety of fashions, and those rich ones. 
There are few great ladies going to a mask 
That do outshine ours in their every-day habits. 

Trade, 'Tis strange, my master, in his wisdom, 
can 
Give the reins to such exorbitance. 

Gold, He must. 
Or there 's no peace nor rest for him at home. 
I grant his state will bear it ; yet he 's censured 
For his indulgence, and, for Sir John Frugal, 
By some styled Sir John Prodigal. 

Trade. Is his brother. 
Master Luke Frugal, living? 

Gold, Yes ; the more 
His misery, poor man ! 

Trade. Still in the counter ? 

Gold. In a worse place. He was redeem'd from 
the hole. 



8C. I. THE CITY MADAK, 115 

To live^ in our house^ in hell ; since^ bis base usage 
Consider'd^ 'tis no better. My proud lady 
Admits bim to ber table ; marry^ ever 
Beneatb tbe salt^ and tbere be sits tbe subject 
Of ber contempt and scorn ; and dinner ended^ 
His courteous nieces find employment for bim 
Fitting an under-'prentice^ or a footman^ 
And not an uncle. 

Trade, I wonder, being a scbolar 
Well read, and travelled, tbe world yielding means 
For men of sucb' desert, be sbould endure it ^ 

Gold. He does, witb a strange patience; and 
to us, 
Tbe servants, so familiar, nay, bumble ! 

Enter Stargaze, Lady Frugal, Anne, Mary, 
and MiLLiscENT, in several affected postures, 
with looking-glasses at their girdles^. 

I '11 tell you But I am cut off. Look tbese 

Like a citizen's wife and daughters ? 

Trade. In tbeir babits 
Tbey appear other things : but what are the mo- 
tives 
Of this strange preparation ? 

Gold, The young wagtails 
Expect tbeir suitors : tbe first, the son and heir 

1 Massinger generally opens his plots with great ingenuity ; 
but here he is particularly happy. We are at once admitted 
into the interior of the merchant's family, and prepared for the 
ponduct of the different branches of it, before they appear, by 
a dialogue as natural as it is easy and unfiMrced Gifford. 

' Looking-glasses at their girdles.'] It appears, from innu- 
merable passages in our old writers, that it was customary, 
not only for ladies, but for^^^tlemen, to carry mirrors about 
them. 

i2 



Of the Lord Lacr, who needs my master's money. 
As his daughter does his honour; the second, 

Mr. Plen^^ 
A rough-hewn gmtlaiiaii, and newly come 
To a great estate : and so all aids of art 
In them's excusable. 

L. Frug, You have done your parts here : 
To your study : and he curious in the search 
Of the nativities. [^Exit Stab gaze. 

Trade. Methinks the mother. 
As if she could renew her youth, in caie. 
Nay curiosity*, to appear lovely. 
Comes not behind her daughters. 

Gold. Bleeps the first place ; 
And though the church-book speak her (shy, they 
That say she can write thirty, more ofiend her 
Than if they tax'd her honesty : t' other day, 
A tenant of hers, instructed in her humour. 
But one she never saw, being brought befiire her. 
For saying only. Good young mUtress^ kdp me 
To the speech of your lady^mother, so far pleased 

her. 
That he got his lease renew'd for 't. 

Trade, How she bristles ! 
Prithee, observe her. 

Mill, As I hope to see 
A country knight's son and heir walk bare before 

you 
When you are a countess, as you may be one 
When my master dies, or leaves trading; and I, 
continuing 

* Curiosity.'] This word here, as in many other passages of 
-*o plays, signifies scrupulous attentifm^ anxiety* 



SC.I,. TAB CITY MADAM. U7 

Your principal woman^ take the upper hand 
Of a squire's wife, though a justioei as I must 
B7 the place you give me ; you loc^ now as young 
As when you were married. 

Xr. Frug, I think I bear my years welL 

MUl, Why should you ttdk of years? Time 
hath not plough'd 
One furrow in your face; and were you not 

known 
The mother of my young ladies, you might pass 
For a rirgin of fifteen. -^ • 

Trade. Here 's no gross flattery ! 
Will she swallow this? , , 

Gold. You see she does, and glibly- 

MilL You never can be old ; wear but a mask 
Forty years hence, and^you will ^till aeem young 
In your other parts. What a waist's here ! ^d 

here a hand 
To be kiss'd ever ; — ^pardon my boldness, madam. 
Then, for a leg and foot, you will be courted 
When a great grandmother. 

L. Frug, These, indeed, wench, are not 
So subject to decayings as the £Bce; : 
Their comeliness lasts longer. 

MiU. Ever, ever! 
Such a rare featured and proportion'd madam 
London could never boast of. 

L. Frug. Where are my shoes ? 

Mill, Those that your ladyship gave order should 
Be made of the Spanish peitumed skins? 

L. Frug. The same. 

MUL I sent the prison-bird this morning for 
them ; 
But he neglects his duty. 



1 18 THE CITY MADAM. ACT I. 

Anne, He is grown 
Exceeding careless. 

Mary, And begins to murmur 
At our commands, and sometimes grumbles to us. 
He is, forsooth, our uncle ! 

L, Frug. He is your slave. 
And as such use him. 

Anne, Willingly 3 but he 's grown 
Rebellious, madam. 

Gold, Nay, like hen, like chicken. 

L. Frug, I 'U humble him. 

Enter Luke, with shoes, garters, Jans, and roses. 

Gold, Here he comes, sweating all over : 
He shows like a walking frippery ^ 

L, Frug, Very good, sir : 
Were you drunk last night, that you could rise no 

sooner. 
With humble diligence, to do what my daughters 
And woman did command you ? 

Luke, Drunk, an 't please you ! 

L. Frug, Drunk, I said, sirrah ! darest thou, in 
a look. 
Repine, or grumble ? Thou unthankful wretch. 
Did our charity redeem thee out of prison, 
(Thy patrimony spent,) ragged, and lousy. 
When the sheriff's basket, and his broken meat^ 

I Frippery,'] L e. an oU'dothet thop: the word it poie 
French, but occurs in most of our andent dramatitta. 

• The sheriff** baskeL] *•'' The poorer sort of priflooen, as 
well in this counter, as in that in Wood-street^ receive daOy 
relief from the sher^Ti table of all the broken bread and meat.** 
^Stow, B. ilL p. 61. 



8C. I* THE CITY MADAM. 119 

Were your festival-exceedings ? and is this 
So soon forgotten ? 

Luke. I confess I am 
Your creature^ madam. 

L. Frug. And good reason why 
You should continue so. 

Anne, Who did new clothe you ? 

Marg. Admitted you to the dining-room ? 

Mill. AUow'd you 
A fresh hed in the garret ? 

L. Frug. Or from whom 
Received you spending money ? 

Luke. I owe all this 
To your goodness^ madam; for it you have my 

prayers. 
The heggar's satisfaction : all my studies 
(Forgetting what I was, hut with all duty 
Remembering what I am) are how to please you. 
And if in my long stay I have oifended, 
I ask your pardon : though you may consider. 
Being forced to fetch these from the Old Exchange, 
These from the Tower, and these from Westminster^ 
I could not come much sooner. 

Gold. Here was a walk 
To breathe a footman ! 

Anne. 'Tis a curious fan. 

Mary, These roses will show rarely. 

Luke. I was with 
The lady, and deliver'd her the satin 
For her gown, and velvet for her petticoat. 
This night she vows she 'U pay you. 

{jiside to GoLDWiRE. 

Gold. How I am bound 
To your favour, master Luke ! 



Mill. As I live, you will 
Perfume all rooms you walk in. 

L. Frug, Get your fur * ; 
You shall pull them on within. [^Eait Luke. 

Gold, That servile office 
Her pride imposes on him. 

Sir John, \jvithin.'2 Groldwire ! Tradewell ! 

Trade, My master calls. — ^We come, sir. 

[^Exeunt Gold wire and Tbadeweli^ 

Enter Holdfast, and Porters with baskets, Sfc, 

L. Frug, What have you hrought there ? 

Hold. The cream o' the market ; 
Provision enough to serve a garrison. 
I weep to think on 't : when my master got 
His wealth, his family fed on roots and livers. 

And necks of beef on Sundays. 

But now I fear it will be spent in poultry ; 
Butcher's-meat will not go down. 

X. Frug, Why, you rascal, is it 
At your expense } What cooks have you provided ? 

Hold. The best of the dty : they've wrought at 
my lord mayor's. 

Anne. Fie on them 1 they smell of Fleet-lane, 
and Pie-comer. 

Mary, And think the happiness of man's life 
consists 
In a mighty shoulder of mutton. 

L, Frug, I '11 have none 
Shall touch what I shall eat, you grumbling cur, 

> Get your fur. ^ To put under her feet while he tried on her 
shoes.— M. Mason. 



8C. II* THE CITY MADAM« 121 

But Frenchmen and Italians ; they wear satin^ 
And dish no meat but in silver. 

Hold. You may want^ though, 
A dish or two when the service ends. 

L. Frug. Leave prating ; 
I '11 have my will : do you as I command you. 

£Exeunl, 



SCENE II. 

The Street before Frugal** House, 
Enter Sir Maurice Lacy and Page, 

Sir Maur. You were with Plenty ? 

Page. Yes, sir. 

Sir Maur. And what answer 
Retum'd the down ? 

Page. Clown, sir ! he is transformed. 
And grown a gallant of the last edition ^ ; 
More rich than gaudy in his habit ; yet 
The freedom and the bluntness of his language 
Continues with him. When I told him that 
You gave him caution, as he loved the peace 
And safety of his life, he should forbear 
To pass the merchant's threshold, until you. 
Of his two daughters, had made choice of her 
Whom you design'd to honour as your wife. 
He smiled in scorn. 

Sir Maur. In scorn ! 

Page. His words confirm'd it ; 

» Of the last edition;] I e. of the newett fashion* 



122 THE CITY MADAM. ACT I. 

They were few, but to tliis purpose : Tell your 

master. 
Though his lordship in reversion were now his, 
It cannot awe me. I was born ajreeman, 
And will not yield, in the way of affection^ 
Precedence to him : I will visit them, 
Though he sate porter to deny me entrance : 
When I meet him next, I'll say more to his 

face. 
Deliver thou this : then gave me a piece. 
To help my memory, and so we parted. 

Sir Maur. Where got he this spirit ? 

Page. At the academy of valour. 
Newly erected for the institution 
Of elder brothers; where they are taught the 

ways, 
Though they refuse to seal for a duellist. 
How to decline a challenge. He himself 
Can best resolve you. 

Enter Plenty and three Servants. 

Sir Maur. You, sir ! 
Plenty. What with me, sir ? 
How biff you look ! I will lose a hat 
To a hair's breadth : move your beaver, I '11 move 

mine; 
Or if you desire to prove your sword, mine hangs 
As near my right hand, and will as iocm out; 

though I keep not 
A fencer to breathe me. Walk into Moorfields-* 
I dare look on your Toledo. Do not show 
A foolish valour in the streets, to make 



St;. II* THE CITY MADAM. l^O 

Work for shopkeepers and their dubs*; 'tis scurvy. 
And the women will laugh at us. 

Sir Maur. You presume 
On the protection of your hinds. 

Plenty, I scorn it : 
Though I keep men, I fight not with their fingerd. 
Nor make it my religion to follow 
The gallant's fashion, to have my family 
Consisting in a footman and a page. 
And those two sometimes hungry. I can feed these. 
And clothe them too, my gay sir. 

Sir Maur. What a fine man 
Hath your tailor made you ! 

Plenty. 'Tis quite contrary ; 
I have made my tailor, for my clothes are paid for 
As soon as put on ; a sin your man of title 
Is seldom guilty of: but. Heaven forgive it ! 
I have other faults, too, very incident 
To a plain gentleman : I eat my venison 
With my neighbours in the country, and present 

not 
My pheasants, partridges, and grouse to the 

usurer ; 
Nor ever yet paid brokage to his scrivener. 
I flatter not my mercer's wife, nor feast her 
With the first cherries, or peascods, to prepare me 
Credit with her husband, when I come to London. 
The wool of my sheep, or a score or two of fat oxen 
In Smithfield, give me money for my expenses. 
I can make my wife a jointure of such lands too 

* For thopkeepert and their clvhs.^ In any public afiray, 
the cry was cluhs ! clubs ! by way of calling for persons to part 
the combatants. It appears that shopkeepers generally kept 
dubf in readiness for this very purpose. 



124 THE CITY MADAM. ACT I. 

As are not encumber'd; no annuity 
Or statute lying on them. This I can do^ 
An it please your future honour ; and why^ there- 
fore. 
You should forhid my heing suitor with you^ 
My dulness apprehends not. 

Page. This is hitter. [^Aside, 

Sir Maur. I have heard you, sir, and in my 
patience shown 
Too much of the stoic. But to parley further. 
Or answer your gross jeers, would write me coward. 
This only, — thy great grandfather was a hutcher. 
And his son a grazier ; thy sire, constable 
Of the hundred, and thou the first of your dunghiU 
Created gentleman. Now you may come on, sir. 
You and your thrashers. 

Plenty. Stir not, on your lives. 
This for the grazier, — this for the butcher. 

IThetfJight 

Sir Maur. So, sir ! 

Page. I '11 not stand idle ; draw ! [to the Ser- 
vanis.'] My little rapier 
Against your bumb blades ! I 'U one by one de- 
spatch you. 
Then house this instrument of death and horror. 

Enter Sir John Frugal, Luke, GoLDWiEE^'tintor, 
and Tradkwell junior. 

Sir John, Beat down their weapons. My gate 
ruffian's hall ! 
What insolence is this ? 

Luke. Noble Sir Maurice, 
Worshipful master Plenty — 

Sir John. I blush for you. 



8C. II. THE CITY MADAM. 125 

Men of your quality expose your fame 

To every vulgar censure ! This at midniglit 

After a drunken supper in a tavern^ 

(No civil man abroad to censure it',) 

Had shown poor in you ; but in the day, and view 

Of all that pass by, monstrous ! 

Plenty, Very well, sir ; 
You look'd for this defence. 

Sir Maur. 'Tis thy protection 5 
But it will deceive thee. 

Sir John. Hold, if you proceed thus, 
I must make use of the next justice' power. 
And leave persuasion ; and in plain terms tell you. 

Enter Lady Frugal, Anne, Mary, and Millis* 

CENT. 

Neither your birth. Sir Maurice, nor your wealth. 
Shall privilege this riot. See whom you have 

drawn 
To be spectators of it ! Can you imagine 
It can stand with the credit of my daughters 
To be the argument of your swords? i'the street 

too? 
Nay, ere you do salute, or I give way 
To any private conference, shake hands 
In sign of peace : he that draws back parts with 
My good opinion. [They shake hands. "] This is 

as it should be. 
Make your approaches, and if their affection 
Can sympathise with yours, they shall not come. 
On my credit, beggars to you. I will hear 
What you reply within. 

> Civil man,] i, e. citizen^ or, perhaps, one invested with 
dvU authority. 



Sir Maur, May I have the honour 
To support you, lady? [To Anne. 

Plenty. I know not what 's supporting, 
But, by this fair hand, glove and all, I love you. 

[To Mary. 
[Exeunt all hut Luke. 

Enter Hoyst, Penury, and Fortune. 

Luke. You are come with all advantage. I will 
help you 
To the speech of my brother. 

For, Have you moved him for us ? 
Luke. With the best of my endeavours, and I 
hope 
You '11 find him tractable. 

Pen, Heaven grant he prove so ! 
Hoyst* Howe'er, I '11 speak my mind. 

Enter Lord Lacy. 

Luke, Do so, master Hoyst. 
Go in : I '11 pay my duty to this lord. 
And then I am wholly yours. — Heaven bless your 
honour ! 

\Exeunt Hoyst, Penury, and Fortune. 
L. Lacy, Your hand, master Luke : the world 's 
much changed with you 
Within these few months; then you were the 

gallant : 
No meeting at the horse-race, cocking, hunting. 
Shooting or bowling, at which master Luke 
Was not a principal gamester, and companion 
For the nobility. 

Luke, I have paid dear 
For those follies, my good lord ; and 'tis but justice 



SC. II. THE CITY MADAM, rz/ 

That such as soar ahove their pitchy and will not 
Be wam'd by my example^ should^ like me^ 
Share in the miseries that wait upon it. 
Your honour, in your charity, may do well 
Not to upbraid me with those weaknesses. 
Too late repented. 

L. Lacy. I nor do, nor will ; 
And you shall find I *11 lend a helping hand 
To raise your fortunes. How deals your brother 
with you ? 

Luke. Beyond my merits I thank his goodness 
for 't. 
I am a free man, all my debts discharged ; 
Nor does one creditor, undone by me. 
Curse my loose riots. I have meat and clothes. 
Time to ask Heaven remission for what *s past ; 
Cares of the world by me are laid aside. 
My present poverty's a blessing to me; 
And though I have been long, I dare not say 
I ever lived till now. 

L, Lacy, You bear it well ; 
Yet as you wish I should receive for truth 
What you deliver, with that truth acquaint me 
With your brother's inclination. I have heard, 
In the acquisition of his wealth, he weighs not 
Whose ruins he builds upon. 

Luke* In that, report 
Wrongs him, my lord. He is a citizen. 
And would increase his heap, and will not lose 
What the law gives him : such as are worldly wise 
Pursue that track, or they will ne'er wear scarlet*. 

> Wear scarlet,'\ i. e. rise to city honours. Our old writers 
have innumerable allusions to the scarlet gowns of the mayors 
and aldermen of Londcm.— Giffoiid« 



128 THE CITY MADAM. ACT I. 

But if your honour please to know His temper^ 
You are come opportunely. I can brinff you 
Where you. unseen, shall see and hear ms carriaire 
Toward^ some poor men, whose making, or undob^ 
Depends upon his pleasure. 

L, Lacy, To my wish: 
I know no object that could more content me. 

\^Exeunt, 

SCENE III. 

A Counting-room in Frugal'^ House. 

Enter Sir John Frugal, Hoyst, Fortune, 
Penury, and GohDW ire Junior. 

Sir John. What would you have me do? reach 
me a chair. 
When I lent my monies I appeared an an^ ; 
But now I would call in mine own, a devil. 
Hoyst. Were you the devil's dam, you must stay 
till I have it. 
For as I am a gentleman 

Re-enter Luke, behind, with Lord Lacy, whom he 

places near the door. 

Luke. There you may hear all. 
Hoyst. I pawn'd you my land for the tenth part 
of the value : 
Now, 'cause I am a gamester^ and keep ordinaries. 
None will be bound for me; you must give me 

longer day. 
Or I shall grow very angry. 

Sir John. Fret, and spare not. 
I know no obligation lies upon me 



«0. III. THE CITY MADAM. 129 

With my honey to feed drones. But to the purpose : 
How much owes Penury ? 

Gold. Two hundred pounds : 
His hond three times since forfeited. 

Sir John, Is it sued ? 

GM, Yen, ar, and execution out against him. 

Sir John, For body and goods ? 

Gold, For hoth^ sir. 

Sir John, See it served. 

Pen. I am undone ; my wife and family 
Must starve for want of bread. 

Sir John, More infidel thou^ 
In not providing better to support them. 
What 's Fortune's debt ? 

Go/(^. A thousand^ sir. ^-■ 

Sir John. An estate 
For a good man ! You were the ^orioiis trader 
Embraced all bargains ; the main venturer 
In every ship that launch'd forth ; kept your wife 
As a lady ; she had her carochf^ her choice 
Of summer-houses built with other men's moneys 
Ta'en up at interest, the certain road 
To Ludgate^ in a citizen. Pray you acquaint me^ 
How were my thousand pounds employ'd i 

For. Insult not 
On my calamity ; though^ being a debtor^ 
And a slave to him that lends^ I must endure it. 
Yet hear me ^eak thus much in my defence : 
Losses at sea^ and those^ sir^ great and many^ 

* Caroch,'\ i. e. a coach, 

^ Ludgatc. ] This prison was anciently appropriated to the 
freemen of the city, and to clergymen : it i^, says '^ The Com. 
panion for Debtors,'' (a book of Massingef s age,) the best pri- 
son about London, bodi in regard to its endowment and govern- 
ment ^Ol TWO AD. 

VOL. II. K 



130 THE CITY MADAM. ACT I. 

By Storms and tempests^ not domestical riots 
In soothing my wife's humour or mine own. 
Have brought me to this low ebb. 

Sir Johti. Suppose this true. 
What is 't to me ? I must and will have my money. 
Or I'll protest you first, and, that done, have 
The statute made for bankrupts served upon you. 

For. 'Tis in your power, but not in mine to shun it. 

Luke, \jcomes forward'^ Not as a brother, sir, 
but with such duty 
As I should use unto my father, since 
Your charity is my parent, give me leave 
To speak my thoughts. 

Sir John. What would you say ? 

Luke. No word, sir, 
I hope, shall give offence ; nor let it relish 
Of flattery, though I proclaim aloud 
I glory in the bravery of your mind. 
To which your wealth 's a servant. Not that riches 
Is, or should be, contemn'd, it being a blessing 
Derived from Heaven, and by your industry 
Pull'd down upon you ; but in this, dear sir. 
You have many equals : such a man's possessions 
Extend as far as yours ; a second hath 
His bags as full ; a third in credit flies 
As high in the popular voice : but the distinction 
And noble difference by which- you are 
Divided from them is, that you are styled 
Gentle in your abundance, good in plenty ; 
And that you feel compassion in your bowels 
Of others' miseries, (I have found it, sir. 
Heaven keep me thankful for 't !) while they are 

cursed 
As rigid and inexorable. 



*C. m. THE CITY MADAtf. 131 

Sir Jdhn. I delist nbt 
To Lear this spoke to my face^ 

Luke. That shall not grieve y6u. 
Your affability and tnildness^ clothed 
In the ga^ents of jour thankfiil debtors' breathy 
Shall everywhere^ though you strive to cemceal ii, 
Be seen' and wonder'd at^ and in the isict 
With a i^rodigal hand rewarded. Wheread^ sUch 
As are bom only for themselves^ and live so^ 
Though prosperous in worldly undejvtodings^ 
Are but like beasts of rapine, that by odds 
Of strength usurp, and tyrannize ci'er others 
Brought under their subjection. 

L, Lacy, A rare fellow ! 
I am strangely taken with him. 

Luke, Can you think, sir. 
In your unquestion'd wisdom, I beseech you^ 
The goods of this poor man sold at an outcry ', 
His wife tum'd out of doors, his children fbroed 
To beg their bread ; this gentleman's estate. 
By wrong extorted, can advantage you ? 

Hoysi. If it thrive with him, hang me^ as it will 
damn him. 
If he be not converted. 

Luke. You are too violent. 

Or that the ruin of this once brave merchant — 
For such he was esteem'd, though now decay'd — 
Will raise your reputation with good men ? 
But you may urge, (pray pardon me, my zeal 
Makes me thus bold and vehement,) in this 
You satisfy your anger, and revenge 
For being defeated. Suppose this, it will not 

» An outcry ^^ i. e. a public auction* 

k2 



132 THE CITY MADAM. ACT I. 

Repair your loss ; and there was never yet 
But shame and scandal in a victory^ 
When the rebels unto reason^ passions^ fought it. 
Then for revenge, by ereat souls it was ever 
Contemn'd, though oflter'd ; entertained by none 
But cowards, base and abject spirits, strangers 
To moral honesty, and never yet 
Acquainted with religion. 

L. Lacy. Our divines 
Cannot speak more effectually. 

Sir John, Shall I be 
Talk'd out of my money ? 

Luke, No, sir, but entreated 
To do yourself a benefit, and preserve 
What you possess entire. 

Sir John, How, my good brother? 

Luke, By making these your beadsmen ^ When 
they eat. 
Their thanks, next Heaven, will be paid to your 

mercy ; 
When your ships are at sea, their prayers will swell 
The sailswith prosperous winds, and guard them from 
Tempests and pirates ; keep your warehouses 
From fire, or quench them with their tears. 

Sir John, No more. 

Luke. Write you a good man in the people's 
hearts. 
Follow you everywhere. 

I BvaiUmen^'\ i. e. pn.yersmen. The word is pure Saxon, 
and means such as are engaged, in consequence of past or pre> 
sent favours, to pray for their benefactors. The name was 
formerly given with great propriety to the inhabitants of alms- 
houses, and, in general, to the objects of our public charities— 

GiFrOKD. 



8C. III. THE CITY MADAM* 133 



Sir John, If this could 

Luke. It must^ or our devotions are but words. • 
I see a gentle promise in your eye : 
Make it a blessed act^ and poor me ricb 
In being the instrument. 

Sir John, You shall prevail ; 
Give them longer day : but^ do you hear^ no talk 

oft. 
Should this arrive at twelve on the Exchange^ 
I shall be laugh'd at for my foolish pity'. 
Which money-men hate deadly. Take your own 

time^ 
But see you break not. Carry them to the cellar; 
Drink a healthy and thank your orator. 

Pen, On our knees^ sir. 

For, Honest master Luke ! 

Hoyst, I bless the counter^ where 
You leam'd this rhetoric. 

Luke, No more of that, friends. 

QJSrettn/ Luke, Hoyst, Fortune, afi<^ Penury. 
Lord Lacy comes forward. 

Sir John, My honourable lord. 

L. Lacy. I have seen and heard all^ 
Excuse my manners, and wish heartily 
You were all of a piece. Your charity to your 

debtors 
I do commend ; but where you should express 
Your piety to the height, I must boldly tell you 
You show yourself an atheist. 

Sir John, Make me know 
My error, and for what I am thus censured- 
And I will purge myself, or else confess 
A guilty cause. 



134 THE CITY MADAM. ACT I. 

L. Lacy. It is your harsh demeanour 
To your poor brother. 

Sir John, Is that all ? 

L. Lacy. 'Tis more 
Than can admit defence. You keep him as 
A parasite to your table^ subject to 
The scorn of your proud wife, an underling 
To his own nieces : and can I with mine honour 
Mix my blood with his that is not sensible 
Of his brother's miseries } 

Sir John, Pray you take me with you. 
And let me yield my reasons why I am 
No opener-handed to him. I was bom 
His elder brother, yet my father's fondness 
To him, the younger, robb'd me of my birthright : 
He had a fair estate, which his loose riots 
Soon brought to nothing; wants grew heavy on 

him; 
And when laid up for debt, of all forsaken. 
And in his own hopes lost, I did redeem him. 

L. Lacy, You could not do less. 

Sir John. Was I bound to it, my lord ? 
What I possess I may with justice call 
The harvest of my industry. Would you have me. 
Neglecting mine own family, to give up 
My estate to his disposure ? 

L, Lacy. I would have you. 
What 's passed forgot, to use him as a brother ; 
A brother of fair parts, of a clear soul, 
Religious, good, and honest. 

Sir John, Outward gloss 
Often deceives : may it not prove so in him ! 
And yet my long acquaintance with his nature 



• 



ACT II. THE CITY MADAM. 135 

Renders me doubtful ; but that shall not make 
A breach between us : let us in to dinner^ 
And what trust or employment you think fit 
Shall be conferr'd upon him : if he prove 
True gold in the touchy I '11 be no mourner for it. 
L. Lacy. If counterfeit^ I'll never trust my 
judgment. [^Exeunt » 



ACT II. SCENE I. 

A Room in Sir John Frugal'* House, 

Enter Luke^ Holdfast, Goldwire junior, and 

TradkweijIj junior. 

Hold, The like was never seen. 

Luke. Why in this rage, man ? 

Hold. Men may talk of country-christmasses 
and court-gluttony. 
Their thirty-pound butter'd eggs, their pies of 

carps* tongues. 
Their pheasants drench'd with ambergris, the car-* 

casses 
Of three fat wethers bruised for gravy to 
Make sauce for a single peacock ; yet their feasts 
Were fasts, compared with the city's. 

Trade. What dear dainty 
Was it thou murmur'st at ? 

Hold, Did you not observe it ? 
There were three sucking pigs served up in a dish, 
Ta'en from the sow as soon as farrow'd, 
A fortnight fed with dates and muskadine. 
That stood my master in twenty marks a-piece. 
Besides the puddings in their bellies, made 



136 THE CITY MADAM. ACT II. 

Of I know not what. — ^I dare swear the cook that 

dress'd it 
Was the devil disguised like a Dutchman. 

Gold. Yet all this 
Will not make you fat^ fellow Holdfast. 

Hold. I am rather 
Starved to look on 't. But here 's the mischief — 

though 
The dishes were raised one upon another, 
As woodmongers do billets^ for the first. 
The second, and third course, and most of the shops 
Of the best confectioners in London ransack'd 
To furnish out a banquet ^ yet my lady 
Caird me penurious rascal, and cried out 
There was nothing worth the eating. 

Gold. You must have patience : 
This is not done often. 

Hold. 'Tis not fit it should ; 
Three such dinners more would break an alderman. 
And make him give up his doak : I am resolved 
To have no hand in 't. I '11 make up my accompts ; 
And since my master longs to be undone. 
The great fiend be his steward : I will pray^ 
And bless myself from him ! [^Exit. 

Gold. The wretch shows in this 
An honest care. 

Luke. Out on him ! with the fortune 
Of a slave he has the mind of one. However 
She bears me hard, I like my lady's humour. 
And my brother's suffrage to it. They are now 

* A banquet.] WliAt we now call a dessert •* it was com. 
posed of fruit, sweetmeats, A.c It was usually placed in a 
separate room, to which the guests lemoYed as soon as they 
h««d dined. 



8C. I. THE CITY MADAM. 137 

Busy on all hands ; one side eager for 

Large portions^ the other arguing strictly 

For jointuires and security ; but this^ 

Being above our scale^ no way concerns us. 

How dull you look ! In the mean time^ how intend 

you 
To spend the hours ? 

Gold. We well know how we woold^ 
But dare not serve our wills. 

Trade. Being prentices. 
We are bound to attendance. 

Luke. Have you almost served out 
The term of your indentures, yet make conscience 
By starts to use your liberty ? Hast thou traded 

[^To Tradewell. 
In the other world ', exposed unto all dangers. 
To make thy master rich, yet dar'st not take 
Some portion of the profit for thy pleasure ? 
Or wilt thou, [to Gold.] being keeper of the cash. 
Like an ass that carries dainties, feed on thistles ? 
Are you gentlemen bom, yet have no gallant 

tincture 
Of gentry in you ? You are no mechanics ; 
Nor serve some needy shopkeeper, who surveys 
His every-day takings : you have in your keeping 
A mass of wealth, from which you may take boldly. 
And no way be discover'd. He 's no rich man 
That knows all he possesses, and leaves nothing 
For his servants to make prey of. I blush for you. 
Blush at your poverty of spirit ; you. 
The brave sparks of the city ! 

Gold. Master Luke, 

I The other world,] i. e. the East Indiet. 



I wonder you should urge this, having felt 
What misery follows riot. 

Trade, And the penance 
You endured for *t in the counter. 

Lvke. You are fools ! 
The case is not the same : I spent mine own money ; 
And my stock being small, no marvel 'twas soon 

wasted ; 
But you, without the least doubt or suspicion. 
If cautelous, may make bold with your master's. 
As, for example, when his ships come home. 
And you take your receipts, as 'tis the fashion. 
For fifty bales of silk you may write forty ; 
Or for so many pieces of cloth of bodkin^. 
Tissue, gold, silver, velvets, satins, taffetas, 
A piece of each deducted from the gross 
Will ne'er be miss'd, a dash of a pen will do it. 

Trade. Ay, but our fathers' bonds, that lie in pawn 
For our honesties, must pay for 't. 

Luke, A mere bugbear. 
Invented to fright children ! As I live. 
Were I the master of my brother's fortunes, 
I should glory in such servants. Didst thou know 
What ravishing luxury it is to enter 
An ordinary, cap-i-pie, trimm'd like a gallant. 
For which, in trunks conceal'd, be ever fumish'd ; 
The reverence, respect, the crouches, cringes. 
The musical chime of gold in your cramm'd pockets 
Commands from the attendants/and poor porters 

' Cloth of bodkin ;] a rich kind of cloth, made partly of ailk 
and partly of gold or silver. The word bodkin is a corrapti(^ 
of baudkin, from the low Latin Baidekinus^ which itseli was 
derived from Baldach, an oriental name for Babylon, fW>m 
which place the stuff was said to be brought — Nabes, 



SP. 1. THE CITY MAPAM; 139 

Trade, O rare I 

Luke* Then sitting at the table with 
The braveries of the kingdom, you shall hear 
dccurrents from all comers of the worlds 
The plots, the counsels, the desi^s of princes^ 
And freely censure them ; the city wits 
Cried up, or decried, as their passions lead them ; 
Ju^^gment having nought to do there. 

Trade. Admirable! 

Luke, My lord no sooner shall rise out of Yds 
chair. 
The gaming lord I mean, but you may boldly. 
By the pivilege of a gamester, fill his room. 
For in play you are aU fellows ; have your knife . 
As soon in the pheasant; drink your health as 

freely ; 
And, striking in a lucky hand or two. 
Buy out your time. 

Trade, This may be ; but suppose 
We should be known ? 

Luke, Have money and good clothes. 
And you may pass invisible. 

GM, Master Luke, 
You shall be of my counsel, and we two sworn 

brothers ; 
And therefore I '11 be open. I am out now 
Six hundred in the cash ; yet, if on a sudden 
I should be call'd to account, I have a trick 
How to evade it, and make up the sum. 

Trade. Is *t possible ? 

Luke, You can instruct your tutor. 
How, how, good Tom ? 

Gold, Why, look you. We cash-keepers 
Hold correspondence, supply one another 



1 -10 THE CITY MADAM. ACT II. 

On all occasions : I can borrow for a week 
Two hundred pounds of one^ as much of a second^ 
A third lays down the rest; and, when they want> 
As my master's moneys come in I do repay it : 
Ka me, ka thee ' / 

Luke. An excellent knot ! 'tis pity 
It e'er should be unloosed ; for me it shall not. 
You are shown the way, friend Tradewell; you may 

make use on 't. 
Or freeze in the warehouse, and keep company 
With the cater'. Holdfast. 

Trade, No, I am converted. 
A Barbican broker will furnish me with outside. 
And then a crash at the ordinary ! 

Gold, I am for 
The lady you saw this morning, who indeed is 
My proper recreation. 

Luke, Go to, Tom ; 
What did you make me ? 

Gold. I '11 do as much for you. 
Employ me when you please. 

Luke, If you are inquired for, 
I will excuse you both. 

Trade, Kind master Luke ! 

Gold, We'll break my master to make you. 
You know 

Luke. I cannot love money. Go, boys ! 

^Exeunt Goldwire and Tradbwell. 

» Ka mc, ka thee /] i. c. invHe me^ I ^11 invite thee! Thli 
proverb, of Scottish origin, is often met with in our old dramas. 
*' It was spoicen,** says Kelly, in his Scottish Proverbs, *« when 
great people feast one another, and neglect the poor.** In Eng- 
land the phrase seems to have been u»ed in the sense of ^* one 
good turn deserves another/* 

• Cater ^^ L e. purveyor* 



When time serves. 
It shall appear I have another end in't^ [^Exit, 



SCENE II. 

Another Room in the same. 

Enter Sir John Frugal, Lord Lacy, Sir Maurice 
Lacy, Plenty, Lady Frugal, Anne, Mary, 
and MiLLiscENT. 

Sir John, Ten thousand pounds a-piece I'll 
make their portions. 
And after my decease it shall be double. 
Provided you assure them, for their jointures. 
Eight hundred pounds per annum, and entail 
A thousand more upon the heirs male 
Of these my daughters. 

L, Lacy. You surely bind us, sir. 
To very strict conditions. 

Plenty. You, my lord, 
JNIay do as you please : but to me it seems strange 
We should conclude of portions, and of jointures. 
Before our hearts are settled. 

L. Frug, You say right : 
There are counsels of more moment and import- 
ance. 
On the making up of marriages, to be 
Consider'd duly, ^han the portion or the jointures, 

1 The real character of Luke opens, in this scene, with sur- 
prising art. He had deeply studied the dispositions of the two 
apprentices, and his language is nicely calculated to betray them 
into a confession of £heir respective propensities, and thus 
render them subservient to his future views. — Gifford, 



142 THE CITY MADAM. ACT II. 

In whicli a motlier's care must be exacted ; 
And I^ by special privilege^ may challenge 
A casting voice. 

L, Lacy. How 's this } 

L. Frug, Even so, my lord ; 
In these affairs I govern. 

L, Lacy. Give you way to't.^ 

Sir John» I must^ my lord. 

L. Frug, *Tis fit he should^ and shall. 
You may consult of something else : this province 
Is wholly mine. 

Sir Maur, By the city custom^ madam ? 

L. Frug. Yes, my young sir ; and both must look 
my daughters 
Will hold it by my copy. 

Plenty. Brave, i'faith ! 

Sir John. Give her leave to talk, we have the 
power to do : 
And now touching the business we last talk'd of — 
In private, if you please. 

L. Lacy. 'Tis well remember'd : 
You shall take your own way, madam. 

[^Exeunt Lord Lacy and Sir John Frugal. 

Sir Maur, What strange lecture 
Will she read unto us ? 

L. Frug. Such as wisdom warrants 
From the superior bodies. Is Stargaze ready. 
With his several schemes ? 

Mill. Yes, madam, and attends 
Your pleasure. 

Sir Maur. Stargaze, lady ! what is he ? 

L. Frug. Call him in. — \Fxit Milliscent.I — 
You shall first know him, then admire him 
For a man of many parts, and those parts rare ones. 



8C. II. THE CITY MADAM; ] 43 

He 's every tiling, indeed ; parcel physician. 
And as such prescribes my diet ; parcel poet> 
And sings encomiums to my virtues sweetly ; 
My antecedent, or my gendeman-usher. 
And as the stars move, with that due proportion 
He walks before me : but an absolute master 
In the calculation of nativities ; 
Guided by that ne'er-erring science call*d 
Judicial astrology. 

Plenty. Stargaze! sure 
I have a penny allnanack about me 
Inscribed to you as to his patroness. 
In his name publish'd. 

L, Frug. Keep it as a jewel. 
Some statesmen uiat I will not name are wholly 
Govem'd by his predictions ; for they serve 
For any latitude in Christendom, 
As well as our own climate. 

Re-enter Mii.liscent followed hy Stargazr with 

two schemes. 

Sir Maur, 1 believe so. 

Plenty. Must we marry by the almanack ? 

L. Frug. Be silent ; 
And ere we do articulate, much more 
Grrow to a full conclusion, instruct us 
Whether this day and hour, by the planets, promise 
Happy success in marriage. 

Star. In omni 
Parte, et toto. 

Plenty. Good leam'd sir, in English ; 
And since it is resolved we must be coxcombs. 
Make us so in our own language. 



144 THE CITY MADAM. ACT II. 

Star, You are pleasant : 
Thus in our vulgar tongue then. 

L, Frug, Pray you observe him. 

Star. Venus, in the west angle^ the house of 
marriage the seventh house ; and Mars almuthen^ 
or lord of the horoscope. 

Plenty, Heyday ! 

L. Frug. The angels' language ! I am ravish'd ! 
Forward ! 

Star, Mars, as I said, lord of the horoscope, she 
in her exaltation, and he in his triplicite trine, and 
face, assure a fortunate combination to Hymen^ 
excellent, prosperous, and happy. 

L. Frug, Kneel, and give thanks. 

{_The Women kneel. 

Sir Maur. For what we understand not ? 

Plenty. And have as little faith in ? 

L. Frug. Be incredulous; 
To me 'tis oracle. 

Star. Now for the sovereignty of my future 
ladies, your daughters, after they are married. 

Plenty. Wearing the breeches, you mean ? 

L, Frug. Touch that point home : 
It is a principal one, and, with London ladies. 
Of main consideration. 

Star. This is infallible: Saturn out of all dig* 
nities in his detriment and fall combust: and 
Venus in the south angle elevated above him, lady 
of both their nativities, in her essential and ac- 
cidental dignities, argue, foretel, and declare rule, 
pre-eminence, and absolute sovereignty in women. 

L. Frug. Is 't possible ? 

67a r. 'Tis drawn, I assure you, from the apho- 
risms of the old Chaldefuis, Zoroastes, the first and 



8C. II. THE CITY MADAM. 145 

greatest magician, Mercurius Trismegistus^ the later 
Ptolemy^ and the everlasting prognosticator^ old 
£rra Pater. 

L. Frug. Are you yet satisfied ? 

Plenty. In what ? 

L, Frug, That you 
Are hound to obey your wives ; it being so 
Determined by the stars^ against whose influence 
There is no opposition. 

Plenty. Since I must 
Be married by the almanack^ as I may be^ 
'Twere requisite the services and duties 
Which, as you say, 1 must pay to my wife. 
Were set down in the calendar. , 

Sir Maur. With the date 
Of my apprenticeship. 

L. Frug, Make your demands : 
I 11 sit as moderatrix, if they press you 
With over-hard conditions. 

Sir Maur, Mine hath the van ; 
I stand your charge, sweet. 

Star. Silence. 

Anne, I require first — 
And that, since 'tis in fashion with kind husbands. 
In civil manners you must grant — my will 
In all things whatsoever; and that will 
To be obey'd, not argued. 

L. Frug, And good reason. 

Plenty, A gentle itnprimis! 

Sir Maur, This in gross contains all : 
But your special items, lady. 

Anne. When I am one. 
And you are honour'd to be styled my husband. 
To urge my having my page, my gentleman-usher, 

VOL. II. i^ 



146 THE CITY MADAM. ACT II. 

My woman sworn to my secrets^ my 6arocli 
Drawn by six Flanders mares, my coachman^ grooms^ 
Postilion^ and footmen. 

Sir Maur, Is there aught else 
To be demanded? 

Anne, Yes, sir, mine own doctor, 
French and Italian cooks, musicians, scmgsters. 
And a chaplain that must preach to please my fancy ; 
A friend at court to place me at a masque ; 
The private box ta'en up at a new play> 
For me and my retinue ; a fresh habit. 
Of a fashion never seen before, to draw 
The gallants' eyes, that sit on the stage, upon me ; 
Some decay'd lady for my parasite. 
To flatter me, and rail at other madams ; 
And there ends my ambition. 

Sir Maur. Your desires 
Are modest, I confess ! 

Anne, These toys subscribed to. 
And you continuing an obedient husband. 
Upon all fit occasions you shall find me 
A most indulgent wife. 

L. Frug. You have said ; give place. 
And hear your younger sister. 

Plenty. If she speak 
Her language, may the great fiend, booted and 

spurr'd. 
With a sithe at his girdle, as the Scotchman says. 
Hide headlong down her throat ! 

Sir Maur, Curse not the judge 
Before you hear the sentence. 

Mary. In some part 
My sister hath spoke well for the city pleasures. 
But I am for the country's; and must say^ 



8C. II. THE CITY MADAM* 147 

Under correction, in her demands 
She was too modest. 

Sir Maur. How like you this exordium ? 

Plenty. Too modest, with a mischief! 

Mary. Yes, too modest: 
I know my value, and prize it to the worthy 
My youth, my beauty 

Plenty, How your glass deceives you ! 

Mary. The greatness of the portion I bring w^ttjL 
me. 
And the sea of happiness that from me flows to you. 

Sir Maur, She bears up close. 

Mary, And can you, in your wisdom 
Or rustical simplicity, imagine 
You have met some innocent country girl, that 

never 
Look'd further than her father's form, nor knew 

more 
Than the price of com in the market ; or at what 

rate 
Beef went a stone ? that would survey your dairy. 
And bring in mutton out of cheese and butter ? 

Plenty. These arts would grace you, though you 
should put in 
Obedience and duty. 

Mary. Yes, and patience. 
To sit like a fodl at home, and eye your thrashers ; 
Then make provision for your slavering hounds. 
When you come drunk from an alehouse, after 

hunting 
With your clowns and comrades, as if all were yours, 
You the lord paramount, and I the drudge : 
The case, sir, must be otherwise. 

Plenty. How, I beseech you ? 

l2 



148 THE CITY MADAM. ACT II. 

Mary, Marry, thus : I will not, like my sister, 
challenge 
What 's useful or superfluous from my husband. 
That 's base all o*er ; mine shall receive from me 
What I think fit : I '11 have the state convey'd 
Into my hands, and he put to his pension. 
Which the wise viragos of our climate practise ; — 
I will receive your rents. 
. Plenty. You shall be hang*d first. 

Mary, Alake sale or purchase: nay, I'll have 
my neighbours 
Instructed, when a passenger shall ask. 
Whose house is this? (though you stand by) to 

answer. 
The Lady Plenty's. Or, Who owns this manor ? 
The Lady Plenty. Whose sheep are these, whose oxen ? 
The Lady Plenty's. 

Plenty. A plentiful curse upon you ! 

Mary. Since you '11 marry 
In the city for our wealth, in justice we 
IMust have the country's sovereignty. 

Plenty, And we nothing. 

Mary, A nag of forty shillings, a couple of 
spaniels. 
With a sparhawk, is sufficient ; and these too. 
As you shall behave yourself, during my pleasure, 
I will not greatly stand on. I have said, sir ; 
Now if you like me, so^ 

> / have said, sir. 

Now if you like mcy ao.] Before we accuse the poet of 
abusing the license of comedy in these preposterous stifmuitions, 
it ii)ay not be improper to look back for a moment on the 
))jriod in which he wrote, and inquire if no examples of a 
similar nature were then to be found in real life. A snort time 
before thi.s play was written, Elisabeth Spencer, daughter and 



8C. II. THE CITY MADAM. 149 

L, Frug, At my entreaty. 
The articles shall be easier. 

heir of Sir John Spencer, lord mayor of London, wasi married 
to William, Lord Compton. WiUi less integrity and candour 
than the daughters of Sir John Frugal, she made few previous 
stipulations, but, not long after the conclusion of the nuptial 
ceremony, sent her husband a modest and consolatory l^cer, 
which is yet extant ; and from which the following Uems^ among 
many others, are verbally taken : 

*'*' Alsoe I will have 3 horses for my owne saddle^ that none 
shall dare to lend or borrowe ; none lend but I, none borrowe 
but you. Alsoe, I would have two gentlewomen, leaste one 
should be sicke, or have some other lett. Alsoe beleeve yt, it 
is an undecent thinge for a gentlewoman to stand mumpinge 
alone, when God haSi blessed their lord and lady w^^ a greate 
estate. Alsoe, when I ride a huntinge or a hawkeinge, or tra- 
vayle from one howse to another, I will have them attendinge; 
soe for either of those said woemen, I must axid will have for 
either of them a horse. Alsoe, I will have (> or 8 gentlemen ; 
and I will have niy twoe coaches, one lyned with velvett to 
myselfe, w*** 4 very fayre horses, and a coache for my woemen, 
lyned w*^ sweete doth, one laced w*** gold, the other w'** Scar- 
lett, and laced with watched lace and silver, w*'^ 4 good horses. 
Alsoe, I will have twoe coachmen, one for my own coache, the 
other for my women. Alsoe, att any t3rme when I tra vayle, I 
will be allowed not only carroches, and spare horses for me and 
my women, but I will have such carryadgs, as shal be fittinge 
for me all orderly ; not pestringe my things w'>> my woemens, 
nor theirs w^^ either chambermayds, or theirs w^^ wase maids. 
Alsoe, for laundresses, when I travayle I wUl have them sent 
away before w^^* the carryadgs to see all safe, and the chamber- 
mayds I will have goe before w^'^ the groomes, that a chamber 
may be ready, sweete and cleane. Alsoe, for that yt is unde- 
cent to croud upp myself w^*^ my g;entL usher in my coache, I 
will have him to have a convenyent horse to attend me either 
in city or country. And I must have 2 footemen. And my 
desire is, that you defray all the chardges for me." - 

It may not be impertinent to add, that Lord Compton, as 
might reasonably be conjectured after such a letter as this, 
reaped little comfort from his wife^ and less from her immense 
fortune. — Gifford. 



150 THE CITY MADAM. ACT II. 

Plenty. Shall they, i'faith ? 
Sir Maur. Use fair words^ master Plenty. 
Plenty, I cannot. 
I have read of a house of pride^ and now I have 

found one : 
A whirlwind overturn it ! 

Sir Maur, On these terms^ 
Will your minxship be a lady t 
Plenty, A lady in a morris. 
Anne. Wooing do you call this? 
Mary, A bear-baiting rather. 
Plenty. Were you worried, you deserve it, and 
I hope 
I shall live to see it. 

Sir Maur, I 'U not rail, nor curse you : 
Only this, you are pretty peats, and your great por- 
tions 
Add much unto your handsomeness ; but as 
You would command your husbands, you are beg- 
gars, 
Deform'd and ugly. 
L. Frug. Hear me. 
Plenty, Not a word more. 

yEj^eunt Sir Maurice Lacy and Plenty. 
Anne. I ever thought that it would come to this. 
Mary. We may lead apes for husbands, if you 
bind us 
To articulate thus with our suitors. 

\_Both speak weeping. 
Star. Now the doud breaks. 
And the storm will fall on me. ^Aside. 

L. Frug, You rascal ! juggler ! 

[^She breaks Stargaze'^ head, and beats him. 
Star, Dear madam* 



8C. III. TnE CITY MADAM. 151 

L. Frug. Hold you intelligence with the stars^ 
And thus deceive me ! 

Star. My art cannot err; 
If it does, I '11 bum my astrolabe. In mine own star 
I did foresee this broken head^ and beating ; 
And now your ladyship sees^ as I do feel it. 
It could not be avoided. 

L. Frug, Did you } 

Star, Madam^ 
Have patience but a week^ and if you find not 
All my predictions true, touching your daughters. 
And a change of fortune to yourself, a rare one. 
Turn me out of doors. These are not the men the 

planets 
Appointed for their husbands ; there will come 
Gallants of another metal. 

MilL Once more trust him. 

Anne. Mary. Do, lady-mother. 

L. Frug. I am vex'd. Look to it ; 
Turn o'er your books : if once again you fool me. 
You shall graze elsewhere. Come, girls. 

Star. I am glad I scaped thus. 

^^Aside, Exeunt, 

SCENE III. 

Another Room in the same. 
Enter Lord Lacy and Sir John Frugal. 

L, Lacy. The plot shows very likely'. 

» The plot ihows very likely.^ It appears from this that Sir 
John had instilled his suspicions of his brother into Lord Lacy 
It is finely contrived, to confirm them in the execution of theit 
design by a new instance of unfeding pride in his family. — 

GlFFORD. 



152 THE CITY MADAM. ACT If. 

Sir John. I repose 
My principal trust in your lordship ; 'twill prepare 
The physic I intend to minister 
To my wife and daughters. 

L. Lac^. I will do my parts^ 
To set it off to the life. 

Enter Sir Maurice Lacy, and Plenty. 

Sir John. It may produce 
A scene of no vulgar mirth. Here come the suitors : 
When we understand how they relish my wife's 

humours. 
The rest is feasible. 

L. Laci/, Their looks are cloudy. 

Sir John, How sits the wind ? are you ready to 
launch forth 
Into this sea of marriage ? 

Plenty, Call it rather 
A whirlpool of afflictions. 

Sir Maur, If you please 
To enjoin me to it, I will undertake 
To find the north passage to the Indies sooner*. 
Than plough with your proud heifer. 

Plenty. 1 will court 
Proserpine in Pluto's sight, his three-headed porter, 
Cerberus, standing by, and all the Furies 
With their whips to scourge me for 't, rather than 

say, 
I, Jeffrey, take you, Mary, for my wife. 

* The north passage to the Judies,"] This was the onnd 
object of our maritime expeditions in those daySf and wss 
prosecuted with a boldness, dexterity, and perseverance which, 
though since equalled, perhaps, in the same fruitless poituit, 
ha%'c not yet been surpassed* ^Qiffo an. 



SC. III. THE CITY MADAM. ]53 

L. Lacy. Why, what 's the matter ? 

Sir Maur. The mother (with your pardon, 
I cannot but speak so much) is a most unsufferaUe, 
Proud, insolent lady. 

Plenty, And the daughters worse. 

Sir maur. With reverence to your wealth, I do 
begin 
To think you of the same leaven. 

Sir John, You go too far, sir. 

Sir Maur, They have so articled with us ! 

Plenty. And will not take us 
For their husbands, but their slaves ; and so afore* 

hand 
They do profess they '11 use us. 

Sir John, Leave this heat : 
Though they are mine, I must tell you, the per- 

verseness 
Of their manners (which they did not take from 

me. 
But from their mother) qualified, they deserve 
Your equals. 

Sir Maur. True ; but what 's bred in the bone 
Admits no hope of cure. 

Plenty. Though saints and angels 
Were their physicians. 

Sir John. You conclude too fast. 

Plenty. Good-by to you ! 1 11 travel three years, 
but 1 11 bury 
This shame that lives upon me. 

Sir Maur, With your license, 
I *11 keep him company. 

L, Lacy. Who shall furnish you 
For your expenses. 

Plenty. He shall not need your help. 



My purse is his ; we were rivals, but now friends. 
And will live and die so. 

Sir Maur, Ere we go, I *11 pay 
My duty as a son. 

Plenty. And till then leave you. 

\jExeunt Sir Maurice Lacy and Plenty. 

L. Lacy, They are strangely moved. 

Sir John, What 's wealth, accompanied 
With disobedience in a wife and children ? 
My heart will break. 

L. Lacy, Be comforted, and hope better : 
We '11 ride abroad ; the fresh air and discourse 
May yield us new inventions. 

Sir John, You are noble. 
And shall in all things, as you please, command me. 

}[JSxeunt, 

ACT III. SCENE I. 
A Room in Sir John Frugal** House. 

Enter Luke. 

Anne, \jvithin,'^ Where is this unde ? 

L, Frus. \within.'} Call this beadsman-brother*; 
He hath forgot attendance. 

Mary. \withinr\ Seek him out ; 
Idleness spoils him. 

Luke. I deserve much more 
Than their scorn can load me with, and 'tis but 

justice 
That I should live the family's drudge, design'd 
To all the sordid oifices their pride 
Imposes on me ; since, if now I sat 

1 Beadsman-brother,] i, e* dependant on our chtirU^^ 



8C. I. THE CITY MADAM. 155 

A judge in mine own cause^ I should conclude 

I am not worth their pity. Such as want 

Discourse* and j udgment^ and through weakness ftjll^ 

May merit man's compassion ; hut I— 

That knew profuseness of expense the parent 

Of wretched poverty, her fatal daughter^ 

To riot out mine own, to live upon 

The alms of others, steering on a rock 

I might have shunn'd ! — O Heaven ! it is not fit 

I should look upward, much less hope for mercy^. 

Enter Lady Frugal, Anne, Mary, Stargaze> 
^ and MiLLiscENT. 

L. Frug, What are you devising, sir ? 

Anne, My uncle is much given 
To his devotion. 

Mary, And takes time to mumhle 
A paternoster to himself. 

L, Frug, Know you where 
Your brother is? It better would become you 
(Your means of life depending wholly on him) 
To give your attendance. 

Luke, In my will I do : 
But since he rode forth yesterday with Lord Lacy, 
I have not seen him. 

L. Frug, And why went not you 
By his stirrup ? How do you look ! Were his eyes 

closed. 
You *d be glad of such employment. 

* Ducourte,] i, e. reason, 

• This penitential speech of Luke is introduced with adminu 
ble artifice, at the petiod of bis breaking forth in his (rue cha- 
racter; nor is the insolence of Lady FrugiJ and her daughters 
less judiciously timed. — Gifford. 



liJU rUIS UlTY AlAUAAl. ACT III. 

Luke. 'Twas his pleasure 
I should wait your commands^ and those I am 

ever 
Most ready to receive. 

L. Frug, I know you can speak well ; 
But say and do. 

Enter Lord Lacy. 

Luke. Here comes my lord. 

L, Frug, Further off: 
You are no companion for him^ and his business 
Aims not at yoxi, as I take it. • 

Luke. Can I live 
In this base condition ? [^He siands aside. 

L. Frug. I hope, my lord. 
You had brought master Frugal with you ; for I 

must ask 
An account of him from you. 

L, Lacy. I can give it, lady ; 
But with the best discretion of a woman. 
And a strong fortified patience, I desire you 
To give it hearing. • 

Luke. My heart beats. 

L. Frug. My lord, you much amaze me. 

L. Lacy. I shall astonish you. The noble mer- 
chant. 
Who, living, was, for his integrity 
And upright dealing, (a rare miracle 
In a rich citizen,) London's best honour. 
Is 1 am loth to speak it. 

Luke, Wondrous strange ! 

L. Frug, I do suppose the worst. Not dea4> I 
hope } 



8C. I. THB CITY MADABf. 157 

L. Lacy. Your supposition's true^ your hopes are 
false; 
He 's dead. 

L. Frug. Ah me ! 

Anne, My father ! 

Mary. My kind father ! 

Luke. Now they insult not. 

L. Lacy. Pray hear me out. 
He 's dead^ dead to the world and you> and now 
Lives only to himself. 

Luke. What riddle 's this? 

L. Frug. Act not the torturer in my afflictions ; 
But make me understand the sum of all 
Tliat I must undergo. 

L. Lacy. In few words take it : 
He is retired into a monastery^ 
Where he resolves to end his days. 

Luke. More strange I 

L. Lacy. I saw him take post for Dover, and the 
wind 
Setting so fair, by this he 's safe at Calais, 
A nd ere long will be at Lovain. 
JtSf^S' Could I guess 
WniMrere the motives that induced him to it, 
'Twere some allay to my sorrows. 

L. Lactj. I '11 instruct you, 
And chide you into that knowledge: 'twas your 
% pride 

Above your rank, and stubborn disobedience 
Of these your daughters, in their milk suck'd from 

you ; 
At home the harshness of his entertainment. 
You wilfully forgetting that your all 
Was borrow'd from him ; and to hear abroad 



158 THE CITY MADABr. ACT III. 

The imputations dispersed upon you^ 

And justly too^ I fear; that drew him to 

This strict retirement: and^ thus much said for him^ 

I am myself to accuse you. 

L. Frug. I confess 
A guilty cause to him ; but^ in a thought. 
My lord, I ne'er wrong'd you. 

L. Lacy, In fact> you have. 
The insolent disgrace you put upon 
My only son and Plenty, men that loved 
Your daughters in a noble way, to wash off 
The scandal, put a resolution in them 
For three years' travel. 

L. Frug. I am much grieved for it. 

L. Lacy, One thing I had forgot : your rigour to 
His decay'd brother, in which your flatteries. 
Or sorceries made him a co-agent with you. 
Wrought not the least impression. 

Luke. Hum ! this sounds well. 

L. Frug. 'Tis now past help: after these storms, 
my lord, 
A little calm, if you please. 

L, Lacy. If what I have told you 
Show'd like a storm, what now I must delil 
Will prove a raging tempest. His whole estate. 
In lands and leases, debts and present moneyv. 
With all the moveables Jie stood possess'd of. 
With the best advice which he could get for gol<|p 
From his learned counsel, by this formal will 
Is pass'd o'er to his brother. — ^Giving^ the will to 
Luke, mho comes forward^ — With it take 
The key of his counting-house. Not a groat left 

YOU 

Which you can call your own. 




SC. I. THE CITY MADAM. 159 

X*. Frug. Undone for ever ! 

Anne, Mary. What will become of us ? 

Luke. Hum! [_Aside> 

L. Lacy. The scene is changed^ 
And he that was your slave^ by fate appointed 

QLady Frugal, Mary, and Anne^ kneel. 
Your governor : you kneel to me in vain^ 
I cannot help you ; I discharge the trust 
Imposed upon me. This humility^ 
From him may gain remission, and, perhaps, 
Forgetfulness of your barbarous usage to him« 

L, Frug. Am I come to this ? 

L. Lacy. Enjoy your own, good sir. 
But use it with due reverence. I once heard you 
Speak most divinely in the opposition 
Of a revengeful humour ; to these show it. 
And such who then depended on the mercy 
Of your brother, wholly now at your devotion. 
And make good the opinion I held of you. 
Of which I am most confident. 

Luke. Pray you rise, {^Raises them. 

And rise with this assurance — I am still. 
As I^was of late, your creature ; and if raised 
In any thing, 'tis in my power to serve you. 
My will is still the same. O my good lord ! 
This heap of wealth which you possess me of. 
Which to a worldly man had been a blessing. 
And to the messenger might with justice challenge 
A kind of adoration, is to me 
A curse I cannot thank you for ; and, much less. 
Rejoice in that tranquillity of mind 
My brother's vows must purchase. I have made 
A dear exchange with him : he now enjoys 
My peace and poverty, the trouble of 



160 THE CITY MADAM. ACT III. 

His wealth conferr'd on me^ and tliat a burthen 
Too heavy for my weak shoulders. 

L. Lacy. Honest soul^ 
With what feeling he receives it ! 

L. Frug. You shall have 
My best assistance^ if you please to use it. 
To help you to support it. 

Luke. By no means ; 
The weight shall rather sink me^ than you part 
With one short minute from those lawful pleasures 
Which you were bom to, in your care to aid me : 
You shall have all abundance. In my nature, 
I was ever liberal ; my lord, you know it ; 
Kind, affable. — And now methinks I see 
Before my face the jubilee of joy. 
When 'tis assured my brother lives in me. 
His debtors, in full cups crown'd to my health. 
With peans to my praise will celebrate ! 
For they well know 'tis far from me to take 
The forfeiture of a bond : nay, I shall blush. 
The interest never paid after three years, 
When I demand my principal : and his servants. 
Who from a slavish fear paid their obedience. 
By him exacted, now, when they are mine. 
Will grow familiar friends, and as such use me ; 
Being certain of the mildness of my temper. 
Which my change of fortune, frequent in most men. 
Hath not the power to alter. 

L. Lacy. Yet take heed, sir. 
You ruin not, with too much lenity. 
What his fit severity raised. 

L. Frug. And we fall from 
That height we have maintain'd. 

Luke. I '11 build it higher. 



aC. I. THE CITY MADAM. 161 

To admiration higher. With disdain 
I look upon these hahits^ no way suiting 
The wife and daughters of a knighted citizen 
Bless'd with abundance. 

L, Lacy. There, sir, I join with you ; 
A iit decorum must be kept, the court 
Distinguish'd from the city. 

Luke. With your favour, 
I know what you would say ; but give me leave 
In this to be your advocate. You are wide. 
Wide the whole region ^ in what I purpose. 
Since all the titles, honours, long descents. 
Borrow their gloss from weidth, me rich with reason 
May challenge their prerogatives^ and it shall be 
My glory, nay a triumph, to revive. 
In the pomp that these shall shine, the memory 
Of the Roman matrons, who kept captive queens 
To be their handmaids. And when you appear. 
Like Juno, in full majesty, and my nieces. 
Like Iris, Hebe, or what deities else 
Old poets fancy, (your cramm'd W£urdrobes richer 
Than various nature's,) and draw down the envy 
Of our western world upon you ; only hold me 
Your vigilant Hermes with aerial wings, 
(My caduceus, my strong zeal to serve you,) 

> Wide the whole region^ in what I purpose,] This b a most 
admirable stroke, and shows with what exquisite judgment 
Massinger discriminates his characters. Lord Lacy had touched 
a dittcordant string, and the vanity of Luke, already raised to 
an inordinate pitch by his recent glimpse of wealth, is irritated 
and alarmed. The expression, Vou are wide, wide the whole 
region^ is a Latinism, toto ccslOf tota regionc oberras.'-~QiT' 

FORD. 

VOL. II. M 



162 THE CITY MADAM. ACT IIIa 

Prest ^ to fetch in all rarities may delight jod. 
And I am made immortal. 

L. Laci^. A strange frenzy ! [Aside. 

Luke. Off with these rags, and then to hed; 
there dream 
Of fiiture greatness, which, when you awake, 
I '11 make a certain truth : hut I must he 
A doer, not a promiser. The performance 
Requiring haste, I kiss your hands, and leave you. 

lExit. 

L. Laey, Are we all tum'd statues? have his 
strange words charm'd us ? 
What muse you on, lady ? 

Zr. Frug, Do not trouble me. 

L. Lacy, Sleep you, too, young ones ? 

Anne. Swift-wing'd time till now 
Was never tedious to me. Would 'twere night ! 

Mary, Nay, morning, rather. 

Zr. Lacy. Can you ground your faith 
On such imposdHlities ? have you so soon 
Forgot your good husband ? 

L. Frug, He was a vanity 
I must no more remember. 

L. Lacy. Excellent ! 
You, your kind father } 

Anne. Such an uncle never 
Was read of in story ! 

L, Lacy, Not one word in answer 
Of my demands ? 

Mary, You are but a lord ; and knoWj 
My thoughts soar higher. 

> PreHf] L e. ready^ prepared. 



MU f I« THS CITY MADABT. 1 63 



L. Lacy. Admirable! I'llteavejoft " 
To your castles in the air.-— Wlien I relate this. 
It will exceed bdief ; but he must know it. 

[AMe, and cmU* 

Star. Now I may boldly speak. May it please 
youy madam^ 
To look upon your rassal; I foresaw thi% 
The stars assured it. 

L, Frug, 1 begin to feel 
Myself another woman. 

Star, Now you shall find 
All my predictions true, and nobler matchet 
Prerored for my young ladies. 

Mill. Princely husbands. 

Anne. I 'U go no less^ 

Mary. Not a word more; 
Provide my night-rail^. 

MUl, What shall we be to-morrow ! [^ExeunL 

SCENE II. 
Another Room in the same. 

Enter Lukb. 

Luhe. 'Twas no fantastic object, but a truths 
A real truth ; nor dream : I did not slumber. 
And could wake ever with a brooding eve 
To gaze upon 't ! it did endure the touch i 
I saw and felt it ! Yet what I beheld 

^ I^U go no 2cr«t,] i. e. I^tt not play Jbr a tmaUer itakCm 
The phrase is taken fh m the gaining table. 

« Night'rail,] i. e. a sort of loom robe^ a dretHng gawn% 
They were sometimes veiy costly, 

m2 



And handled oft, did so transcend belief, 

(Mj wonder and astonishment pass'd o'er^) 

I faintly could give credit to mj aensei. 

Thou dumb magician, — [^Taking out a key, '2 — ^^t 

without a charm 
Didst make my entrance easy, to possess 
What wise men wish, and toil for ! Hermes' moly, 
Sibylla's golden bough, the great elixir. 
Imagined only by the alchemist ', 
Compared with thee are shadows, — thou the sub* 

stance. 
And guardian of felicity ! No mairel. 
My brother made thy place of rest his bosom. 
Thou being the keeper of his heart, a mistress 
To be hugged ever ! In by-comers of 
This sacred room, silver in ba^, heap'd up 
Like billets saw'd and ready ror the tire. 
Unworthy to hold fellowslup with bright gold . 
That fiow'd about the room, conceal'd itself. 
There needs no artificial light ; the splendour 
Makes a perpetual day there, night and darkness 
By that still-burning lamp for ever banish'd I 
But when, guided by that, my eyes had made 
Discovery of the caskets, and they open'd. 
Each sparkling diamond, from itself, shot forth 
A pyramid of flames, and, in the roof, 
Fix'd it a glorious star, and made the place 
Heaven's abstract, or epitome ! — rubies, sapphires. 
And ropes of orient pearl, these seen, I could not 
But look on with contempt. And yet I found. 
What weak credulity could have no faith in, 
A treasure far exceeding these : here lay 

» Imagined only by the akhemitt,] u e. w/iicA only ejeitti in 

the imagination of the alchemist. 



A manor bound fast in a skin of parchment. 

The wax continuing hard, the acres melting ; 

Here a sure deed of gift for a market- town. 

If not redeemed this day, which is not in 

The unthrift's power : there being scarce one shire 

In Wales or England, where mj monies are not 

Lent out at usury, the certain hook 

To draw in more. I am sublimed ! gross earth 

Supports me not ; I walk on air ! — ^Who 's there ? 

Enter Lord Lacy with Sir John Frugal, Sir 
Maurice Lacy, and Plenty, painted and dis-^ 
guised as Indians. 

Thieves ! raise the street ! thieves ! 

L. Lacy. What strange passion 's this i 
Have you your eyes? do you know me? 

Luke. You, my lord, 
I do : but this retinue, in these shapes too. 
May well excuse my fears. When 'tis your pleasure 
That I should wait upon you, give me leave 
To do it at your own house, for I must tell you. 
Things as they now are with me well considered, 
I do not like such visitants. 

L, Lacy. Yesterday, 
When you had nothing, praise your poverty for 't. 
You could have sung secure before a thief; 
But now you are grown rich, doubts and suspicions. 
And needless fears, possess you. Thank a good 

brother ; 
But let not this exalt you. 

Luke. A good brother^ ! 
Gkx)d in his conscience, I confess, and wise, 

> A good brother /] L e. a rich hrotfter: Luke uses the word 
good ip Its mercantile sense. 



-■■•.■-_, .'.» yr\' 



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tk 






• . J .-^ 






tu 



, ..kbk* '^ 



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BV* 111. 'I'ltfi t;iX'Z JDlAl/AXVk J U/ 

I should divert Iiiin from Us boly purpose^ 
To worldly cares again ! I rather will 
Sustain the burthen, and, with the converted. 
Feast the converters, who, I know, will prove 
The greater feeders. 

Sir John. Oh, ha, eneivah Chrish bully leika. 

Plenty. Enaula. 

Sir Maur. Harrico hotikia honnery, 

Luke, Ha ! in this heathen language. 
How is it possible our doctors should 
Hold conference with them, or I use the means 
For their conversion ? 

L, Lacy, That shall be no hindrance 
To your good purposes : they have lived long 
In the English colony, and speak our language 
As their own dialect; the business does concern 

you: 
Mine own designs command me hence. Continue, 
As in your poverty you were, a pious 
And honest man. ^ExiL 

Luke. That is, interpreted, 
A slave and beggar. 

Sir John, You conceive it right ; 
There being no religion, nor virtue. 
But in abundance, and no vice but want» 
All deities serve Plutus. 

Luke. Oracle! 

Sir John. Temple$ raised to ourselves in the in- 
crease 
Of wealth and reputation, speak a wise man ; 
But sacrifice to an imagined Power, 
Of which we have no sense but in belief, 
A superstitious fool. 

Luke, True worldly wisdom ! 

Sir John. All knowledge else is foUy. 



w 



] 68 THE CITY MADAM. ACT IV* 

Sir Maur. Now we are yours. 
Be confident your better angel is 
Entered your house. 

Plenty, There being nothing in 
The compass of your wishes, but shall end 
In their fruition to the fulL 

Sir John. As yet. 
You do not know us ; but when you understand 
The wonders we can do, and what the ends were 
That brought us hither, you will entertain us 
With more respect. 

Luke. There 's something whispers to me 
These are no common men. ^Aside,'] — My house 

is yours. 
Enjoy it freely : only grant me this. 
Not to be seen abroad till I have heard 
More of your sacred principles. Pray enter : 
You are learned Europeans, and we worse 
Than ignorant Americans. 

Sir John. You diall find it. \Ex€UhU 



ACT IV. SCENE I. 
A Room in Frugal'^ House. 

Enter Ding'em, Gettall, and Holdfast. 

Ding. Not speak with him! with fear survey 
me better. 
Thou figure of famine I 

Gelt. Coming, as we do. 
From his quon£m patrons, his dear ingles now ', 
The brave spark Tradewell — 

* HU dear ingUt^ uuMi lotom /HeMi*^ hit ajiQckleiw 



JM. !• 7HS CITT MADAM* 169 

Ding, And ihe man of men 
In the aenrice of a lady, gallant Gk>ldwire ! 

Enter Luke. 

Hold, I know them for his prendoes, without 
These flourishes. — Here are rude fellows, sir. 

Dhg. Not yours, you rascal ! 

Hold, No ; you may seek your fellows 
In Bridewell, or the hole; here are none of your 
comrogues. 

Luke. One of them looks as he would cut my 
throat: 
Your business, friends ? 

Hold, I'll fetch a constable; 
Let him answer him in the stocks. 

Ding, Stir, an thou darest : 
, Fright me with Bridewell and the stocks ! they are 
fleabitings 
I am familiar with. \\Draws. 

Luke, Pray you put up : 
And, sirrah, hold your peace. [To Holdfast. 

Ding, Thy word's a law. 
And I obey. Live, scrape-shoe, and be thankful. 
Thou man of muck and money, for as such 
I now salute thee, the suburbian gamesters 
Have heard thy fortunes, and I am, in person. 
Sent to congratulate. 

Geti, The news hath reach'd 
The ordinaries, and all the gamesters are 
Ambitious to diake the gcdden golls^ 

> GdU,] i. e. hands^ JitU, A cant word whidi oocon ooo. 
tinuiUly in our old poets. 



l/V THE CITY MADAM. ACT IT, 

Of worshipful master Luke. I come from Trade- 
well, 
Your fine facetious factor. 

Ding, I from Goldwire : 
He and his Helen have prepared a banquet 
To entertain thee. 

Gett. Blind chance hath frown'd upon 
Brave Tradewell : he 's blown up, but not without 
Hope of recovery, so you supply him 
With a good round sum. In my house^ I can 

assure you. 
There *s half a million stirring. 

Luke, What hath he lost } 

Gett, Three hundred. 

Luke. A trifle. 

Gett, Make it up a thousand. 
And I will fit him with such tools as shall 
Bring in a myriad. 

Luke. They know me well. 
Nor need you use such circumstances for them : 
What 's mine is theirs. They are my friends^ not 

servants. 
But in their care to enrich me ; and these courses. 
The speeding means* Your name, I pray you ? 

Gett. Gettall. 
I have been many years an ordinary-keeper. 
My box my poor revenue *. 

* My box my poor revenue.] " If the caster throws Arcc 
mains, or wins by throwing three times successively, he pays 
to the &o<r-keeper, for the use of the house, a stipulated sum 
(varying, according to the dignity of the place, from eighteen 
pence to ten and sixpence) : if the caster wins six tunes suc- 
cessively, he is expected, besides the usual payment to the 
house, to make the box-keeper a handsome donation.*' For 4liit| 



BC. I. THE CITY MADAMr 171 

Luke. Your name suits well 
With jour profession. Bid him bear up ; he shall 

not 
Sit long on Penniless- Bench. 
Gett* There spake an angel ! 
Luke. You know mistress Shave'em? TTiere 
let him meet me 
Some two hours hence. Tell Goldwire I *11 then 

be with him, 
Fumish'd beyond his hopes ; and let your mistress 
Appear in her best apparel. 

Ding. Oh ! I fly 
To keep them sober till thy worship come ; 
They will be drunk with joy else. 
Geti. I '11 run with you. 

[^Exeunt Ding'em and Gbttall. 
Hold. You will not do as you say, I hope ? 
Luke. Inquire not ; 
I shall do what becomes me. — [^Knocking within^ 
— To the door. [^Ej^it Holdfast. 

New visitants ! 

Re-enter Holdfast. 

What are they ? 

Hold. A whole batch, sir. 
Almost of the same leaven : your needy debtors^ 
Penury, Fortune, Hoyst. 

Luke. They come to gratulate 
The fortune fallen upon me. 

Hold. Rather, sir. 
Like the others, to prey on you. 

and what else occurs on the subject of dice, I am indebted to a 
writer in the Monthly Mirror^ whom I believe to be Mr. Ihi 

Bois..— GiFFORD. 



1 72 THE CITY MADAM. ACT IV. 

Luke. I am simple; they 
Know my eood nature : but let them in, however. 

Hold, ALl will come to ruin ! I see b^gary 
Already knocking at the door. — You may enter — 

{^Speaking to those without. 
But use a conscience, and do not work upon 
A tender-hearted gentleman too much ; 
'Twill show like charity in you. 

Enter Fortune, Penury, and Hotst. 

Luke. Welcome, friends: 
I know your hearts and wishes ; you are glad 
You have changed your creditor. 

Pen. I weep for joy 
To look upon his worship's face. 

For. His worship's ! 
I see lord mayor written on his forehead ; 
The cap of maintenance and city sword 
Borne up in state before him. 

Hoyst. Hospitals, 
And a third Burse S erected by his honour. 

Pen, The city poet on the pageant day 
Preferring him before Oresham. 

Hoyst, All the conduits 
Spoutinff canary sack. 

For. Not a prisoner left 
Under ten pounds. 

Pen. We, his poor beadsmen, feasting 
Our neighbours on his bounty. 

Luke. May I make good 

1 Third Bur»e.'\ The two Bunes, to whidi the manU 
ficenoe of Luke wu to »dd a third, were, the Royal Exchange 
and the New Exchange in the Stxaiid* 



8C. I. TtiE CITY MADAM. 173 

Your prophecies^ gentle friends^ as I 'U endeavour. 
To the utmost of my power ! 

Hold. Yes, for one year. 
And break the next. 

Luke, You are ever prating, sirrah. 
Your present business, friends ? 

For, Were your brother present. 
Mine had been of some consequence ; but, now 
The power lies in your worship's hand, 'tis little. 
And will, I know, as soon as ask'd, be granted. 

Luke, 'Tis very probable. 

For. The kind forbearance 
Of my great debt, by your means. Heaven be praised 

for 't ! 
Hath raised my sunk estate. I have two ships. 
Which I long since gave for lost, above my hopes 
Retum'd from Barbary, and richly freighted. 

Luke. Where are they ? 

For, Near Gravesend. 

Luke. I am truly glad of it. 

For. I find your worship's charity, and dare 
swear so. 
Now may I have your license, as I know 
With willingness I shall, to make the best 
Of the commodities, though you have execution 
And after judgment against all that's mine. 
As my poor body, I shall be enabled 
To make payment of my debts to all the world. 
And leave myself a competence. 

Luke. You much wrong me 
If you only doubt it. Yours, master Hoyst ? 

Hoy St. 'Tis the surrendering back the mort- 
gage of 



1 74 THE CITY MADAM. ACT IV. 

My lands^ and on good tenns^ but thred days' pa- 
tience; 
By an uncle's death I have means left to redeem it^ 
And cancel all the forfeited bonds I seal'd to. 
In my riots^ to the merchant ; for I am 
Resolved to leave oif play^ and turn good husband. 

Luke. A good intent^ and to be cherish'd in you. 
Yours, Penury? 

Pen, My state stands as it did, sir : 
What I owed I owe, but can pay nothing to you. 
Yet, if you please to trust me with ten pounds more, 
I can buy a commodity of a sailor 
Will make me a freeman. There, sir, is his name. 
And the parcels I am to deal for. 

\Jjiives him a paper, 

Luke, You are all so reasonable 
In your demands, that I must freely grant them. 
Some three hours hence meet me on the Exchange, 
You shall be amply satisfied. 

Pen, Heaven preserve you ! 

For, Happy were London, if within her walls 
She had many such rich men ! 

Luke. No more ; now leave me 2 
I am full of various thoughts. 

[^Exeunt Fortune, Hoyst, and Penury. 

Be careful. Holdfast; 
I have much to do. 

Hold, And I something to say. 
Would you give me hearing. 

Luke, At my better leisure! 
Till my return look well unto the Indians ; 
In the mean time, do you as this directs you. 

^Givet him a paper. Exeunt, 



SCENE II. 

A B.oom in Shave'emV Houte. 

Enter Goldwire junior, Tkadewell junior^ 
Shaye'em^ Secret^ Gettall, and Ding'em. . 

Gold. All that is mine is theirs. Those were 
his words ? 

Ding, I am authentical. 

Trade, And that / should not 
Sit long on Penniless^Bench ? 

Gett, But suddenly start up 
A gamester at the height^ and cry At all^! 

Shave. And did he seem to have an inclination 
To see me, Ding'em ? 

Ding. He wish'd you would put on 
Your best habiliments, for he resolved 
To make a jovial day on 't. 

Shave. Confound my doctor ! 
He should have brought me some fresh oil of talc j 
These ceruses are common^. 



1 At all!] *' If the caster is full of cash and spirit, it is 
usual for him to say At all in the ring ! meaning, that he will 
play for any sums the company may choose to risk against him." 

* He should have brought me some fresh oil of talc ; 
Ttiese ceruses are common.] Talc is a fossil easily divisible 
into thin laminse. From its smoothness, unctuosity, and bright- 
ness, it has been greatly celebrated as a cosmetic, and the 
cfaymists have submitted it to a variety of operations for jiro- 
curing from it oils, salts, tinctures, magisteries, &c. for that 
purpose ; but all their labours have been in vain, and all the 
preparations sold under the name oi oUof tak, &c. have either 
contained nothing of that mineral, or only a fine powder of it. 



176 TKE CITY MADAM. A€T IT. 

Secret. 'Troth, sweet lady. 
The colours are well laid on. 

Gold, And thick enough; 
I find that on my lips. 

Shave. Do you so. Jack Sauce ! 
I '11 keep them further off. 

Gold. Have an eye to the door ; 
And let loud music, when this monarch enters. 
Proclaim his entertainment. 

Ding, That 's my office. 

[Flourish qfcomeif tviihin. 
The consort's ready. 

Enter Luke. 

Trade. And the god of pleasure. 
Master Luke, our Comus, enters. 

Gold. Set your face in order, 
I will prepare him. — ^Live I to see this day. 
And to acknowledge you my royal master ? 

Trade, Let the iron chests fly open, and the gold. 
Rusty for want of use, appear again ! 

Gett. Make my ordinary flourish ! 

Shave. Welcome, sir. 
To your own palace ! [The mutic piay*. 

Gold, Kiss your Cleopatra, 
And show yourself, in your magnificent bounties, 
A second Antony ! 

Ding. All the nine worthies ! 

Secret. Variety of pleasures wait upon you ! 

To this informadoD, which I owe to the Encydopsdia Britan- 
nica^ I have only to add that a deleterioas comiKwltioii, under 
this name, was sold by the quacks of Ma8singer*s time m a 
wash for the complexion, and is mentioned by all his eooteni- 
poraries. Cerute (white paint), I fear, isyet in use.— -OiFFOBiK 



SC. II. THE CITY MADAAT. 177 

Luke> Give me leave to breathe, I pray you. 
I am astonish'd ! all this preparation 
Made for me ? 

All. We are all your creatures. 

Luke* A house well fumish'd ! 

Gold, At your own cost, sir ; 
Glad I the instrument. I prophesied 
You should possess what now you do, and therefore 
Prepared it for your pleasure. All, on my know- 
ledge. 
Derived from your brother's cash : the lease of the 

house. 
And furniture, cost near a thousand, sir. 

Shave. But now you are master both of it and 
me, 
I hope you '11 build elsewhere. 

Luke. And see you placed. 
Fair one, to your desert. As I live, friend Trade - 

well, 
I hardly knew you, your clothes so well become 

you. 
What is your loss ? speak truth. 

Trade. Three hundred, sir, 

Gett. But, on a new supply, he shall recover 
The sum told twenty times o'er. 

Shave. The banquet waits you. 

Luke. Your music 's harsh, discharge it ; I have 
provided 
A better consort, and you shall frolic it 
In another place. [_The music ceases. 

Gold. But have you brought gold and store, sir^ ? 

» Bui have you hr ought gold and store^ «>?] This is a 
line of an old ballad. 

VOL. II. N 



Trade, I long to Ware the caster^! 

Gold. I to appear 
In a fresh habit. 

Shave. My mercer and my silkman 
Waited me two hours since. 

Luke, I am no porter. 
To carry so much gold as will supply 
Your vast desires ; but I have ta'en order for you : 

Enter Sheriff, Marshal, and Officers, 

You shall have what is fitting, and they come here 
Will see it perform'd. — Do your offices : you have 
My lord chief-justice's warrant for't. 

Sher. Seize them all. 

Shave, The city marshal ! 

Gold. And the sheriff! I know him. 

Secret, We are betray 'd. 

Ding. Undone. 

Gett. Dear master Luke. 

Gold* You cannot be so cruel ; your persuasion 
Chid us into these courses, oft repeating, 
S/iow yourselves city sparks, and hang up money ! 

1 Ware the caster."] ^' When a setter supposes himself to 
possess more money than the caster, it is usual for him, on 
putting his stake into the ring, to cry. Ware catter! The 
caster then declares at all under such a sum — ten, twenty, or 
fifty pounds, for instance ; or else to place against the stakes of 
certain setters the corresponding sums, and cry, Ware covered 
only !" — (Monthly Mirror. J This explanation undoubtedly 
adds greatly to the force and humour of this character. *^ The 
ambitious Tradeweli expects, by the assistance of Luke, to be 
lord-paramount of the gaming-table: as caster, to htAtaU! 
and| as setter, to Ware the ca«/er /'^—Gifford. 



8C. II. THE CITY MADAM. 1 79 

Luke. True: when it was my brother's, I con-, 
temn'd it ; 
But now it h mine own the case is alter'd. 

Trade, Will you prove yourself a devil ? tempt 
us to mischief. 
And then discover it ? 

Luke, Argue that Ifereafter : 
In the mean time, master Goldwire, you that made 
Your ten pound suppers ; held correspondence 
With your fellow-cashiers, and knew, in your ac- 

compts, 
To cheat my brother ; if you can, evade me. 
If there be law in London, your father's bonds 
Shall answer for what you are out. 

Gold. You often told us 
It was a bugbear. 

Luke. Such a one as shall fright them 
Out of their estates, to make me satisfaction 
To the utmost scruple. And for you, madam. 
My Cleopatra, by your own confession. 
Your house, and all your moveables, are mine ; 
Nor shall you nor your matron need to trouble 
Your mercer or your silkman; a blue gown*. 
And a whip to boot, as I will handle it. 
Will serve the turn in Bridewell ; and these soft 

hands. 
When they are inured to beating hemp, be scour'd 
In your penitent tears, and quite forget their 

powders 
And bitter almonds. 

Shave. Secret, Ding. Will you show no mercy ? 

» A blue gown,'] i. e. the livery of Bridewell, It appears, 
from many passages, that this was the dress in which loose 
women were compelled to do penance there. 

N 2 



Luke, I am inexorable. 

Gett, I *11 make bold 
To take my leave ; the gamesters stay Tmy coming. 

Luke, We must not part so^ gentle master 
Gettall. 
Your box, your certain income^ must pay back 
Three hundred, as I take it,* or you lie by it. 
There's half a million stirring in your house. 
This a poor trifle. — Master shrieve and master 

marshal. 
On your perils, do your offices. 

Gold, Dost thou cry now [To Tradewell. 
Like a maudlin gamester after loss ? I '11 suffer 
Like a boman S and now, in my misery. 
In scorn of all thy wealth, to thy teeth tell thee 
Thou wert my pander. 

Luke, Shall I hear this from 
My prentice } 

Mar, Stop his mouth. 

Sher, Away with them. 

[Exeunt Sheriff, Marshal, and Officers, with 
Gold. Trade. Shave. Secret. Gett. 
and Ding. 

Luke. A prosperous omen in my entrance to 
My alter d nature! these house-thieves removed. 
And what was lost, beyond my hopes, recover'd. 
Will add unto my heap ; increase of wealth 
Is the rich man's ambition, and mine 
Shall know no bounds. The valiant Macedon, 
Having in his conceit subdued one world. 
Lamented that there were no more to conquer : 

1 A homan^'] in the language of Alsatia (i. e* of White Friars, 
a receptacle for fraudulent debtors, gamblers, and thieves), meMis 
a gallant fellow. — M. Masox. 



SU. III. THE CITY MADAM. lOl 

In my way, he shall be my great example. 

And when my private house, in cramm'd abundance. 

Shall prove the chamber of the city poor. 

And Genoa's bankers shall look pale with envy 

When I am mentioned, I shall grieve there is 

No more to be exhausted in one kingdom. 

Religion, conscience, charity, farewell ! 

To me you are words only, and no more ; 

All human happiness consists in store. [^Ejcit* 

SCENE III. 

A Street, 

Enter Serjeants with Fortune, Hoyst, and 

Penury. 

For, At master Luke's suit ! the action twenty 

thousand ! 
1 Serj, With two or three executions, which 
shall grind you 
To powder when we have you in the counter. 
For, Thou dost belie him, varlet ! He, good gen- 
tleman. 
Will weep when he hears how we are used. 

1 Sety. Yes, millstones. 

Pen. He promised to lend me ten pound for a 
bargain: 
He will not do it this way. 

2 Serj, I have warrant 

For what I have done. You are a poor fellow; 

And there being little to be got by you. 

In charity, as I am an officer, 

I would not have seen you, but upon compulsion. 

And for mine own security. 

3 Serj. You are a gallant. 



IWZ THE CITY MADAM. ACT IV. 

And I '11 do you a courtesy, provided 

That you have money : for a piece an hour, 

I '11 keep you in the house till you send for bail. 

2 Serj, In the mean time^ yeoman^ run to the 

other counter. 
And search if there be aught else out against him. 

3 Serj, That done, haste to his creditors: he's 

a prize ; 
And as we are dty pirates by our oaths^ 
We must make the best on 't. 

Hoyst, Do your worst, I care not. 
I '11 be removed to the Fleet, and have my riot 

there 
In spite of your teeth. I now repent I ever 
Intended to be honest. 

Enter Luke. 

3 Serj. Here he comes 
You had best tell so. 

For, Worshipful sir. 
You come in time to free us from these bandogs. 
I know you gave no way to't. 

Pen, Or if you did, 
'Twas but to try our patience. 

Hoy si. I must tell you 
I do not like such trials. 

Lnke, Are you Serjeants, 
Acquainted with the danger of a rescue. 
Yet stand here prating in the street ? the counter 
Is a safer place to parley in. 

For, Are you in earnest .'* 

Luke, Yes, faith ; I 'will be satisfied to a token S 
Or, build upon 't, you rot there. 

» A token,] L c. a farthing. 



8C. III. THE CITY MADAM. 183 

For, Can a gentleman 
Of your soft and silken temper speak such language ? 
Pen, So honesty so religious ? 
Hoy St. That preach' d 
So much of charity for us to your brother ? 

Luke. Yes, when I was in poverty it show'd well ; 
But I inherit with his state his mind 
And rougher nature. I grant then^ I talk'd^ 
For some ends to myself conceal'd, of pity. 
The poor man's orisons, and such like nothings : 
But what I thought you all shall feel, and with 

rigour ; 
Kind master Luke says it. Who pays for your at- 
tendance ? 
Do you wait gratis ? 
For. Hear us speak. 
Luke. While I, 
Like the adder, stop mine ears : or did I listen. 
Though you spake with the tongues of angels to me, 
I am not to be alter'd. 

For. Let me make the best 
Of my ships and their freight. 

Pen. Lend me the ten pounds you promised. 
Hoyst. A day or two's patience to redeem my 
mortgage. 
And you shall be satistied. 
For. To the utmost farthing. 
Luke. 1 11 show some mercy ; which is, that I 
will not 
Torture you with false hopes, but make you know 
What you shall trust to. — Your ships to my use 
Are seized on, — I have got into my hands 
Your bargain from the sailor : 'twas a good one 
For such a petty sum. — I will likewise take 



The extremity of your mortgage, and the forfeit 
Of your several bonds ; the use and principal 
Shall not serve. — Think of the basket^ wretches^ 
And a coalsack for a winding-sheet. 

For, Broker! 

Hoyst, Jew! 

For. Impostor! 

Hoyst, Cut-throat! 

For, Hypocrite ! 

Luke, Do, rail on ; 
Move mountains with your breath, it shakes not me. 

Pen. On my knees I beg compassion. My wife 
and children 
Shall hourly pray for your worship. 

For, Mine betake thee 
To the devil, thy tutor*. 

Pen, Look upon my tears. 

Hoyst, My rage. 

For, My wrongs. 

Luke, They are all alike to me ; 
Entreaties, curses, prayers, or imprecations. 
Do your duties, Serjeants ; I am elsewhere look'd 
for. [Exit, 

3 Serj, This your kind creditor ! 

2 Serj, A vast villain, rather. 

Pen, See, see, the Serjeants pity us ! yet he 's 
marble. 

Hoyst, Buried alive ! 

For, There 's no means to avoid it. [^Exeunt, 

» Mine betake thee 
To the devil, thy tutor.l To betake is to commit, to con- 
sign, to give over : My wife and children, says Peniury, i^all 
pray for you. Mine, (i. e. my wife and children, ) ada For- 
tune, shall consign you to the devil, your tutor.<*-GiFFORD. 



si;* JV. 'X'UJS UlTY AlAliAM, 1 OU 

SCENE IV. 
^ 12oom in Sir John Frugal'* House. 

Enter Holdfast^ Stargaze^ and Millisgent. 

Star, Not wait upon my lady ? 
Hold, Nor come at her ; 
You find it not in your almanack. 

Mill. Nor I have license 
To bring her breakfast ? 

Hold. My new master hath 
Decreed this for a fasting-day. She hath feasted 

long ; 
And, after a carnival^ Lent ever follows. 

Mill, Give me the key of her wardrobe. You 'U 
repent this ; 
I must know what gown she *11 wear. 

Hold. You are mistaken. 
Dame president of the sweetmeats; she and her 

daughters 
Are tum'd philosophers, and must carry all 
Their wealth about them : they have clothes laid 

in their chamber. 
If they please to put them on, and without help too, 
Or they may walk naked. You look, master Star- 
gaze, 
As you had seen a strange comet, and had now 

foretold 
The end of the world, and on what day : and you. 
As the wasps had broke into the gallipots. 
And eaten up your apricots. 

L, Frug. [within.] Stargaze ! Milliscent ! 
Mill. My lady's voice. 



ivm; xjix<W1XZ ill alt .1.01 • ^k.\j M. J T • 

Hold. Stir not, you are confined here. 
Your ladyship may approach them, if you please ; 
But they are bound in this circle. \_Aloud, 

L. Frug, l^tvithin.'} Mine own bees 
Rebel against me ^ ! When my kind brother knows 

this, 
I will be so revenged ! 

Hold, The world 's well alter'd. 
He 's your kind brother now ; but yesterday 
Your slave and jesting-stock. 

Enter Lady Frugal, Anne, Mary, in coarse 

habits, weeping. 

Mill, What witch hath transform'd you ? 
Star, Is this the glorious shape your cheating 
brother 
Promised you should appear in } 

Mill, My young ladies 
In buffin^ gowns and green aprons ! tear them off. 
Hold, It is more comely than their other whim- 
whams. 
Mill, A French hood too, now it is out of fashion ! 
A fool's cap would show better. 

L» Frug, We 're fool'd indeed ! By whose com- 
mand are we used thus ? 

Enter Luke. 
Hold. Here he comes can best resolve you. 

1 Mine own bee8,'\ This is a strange expression ; but it is 
probably genuine : the lady seems still to consider hendf m the 
queen of the hive. — Gifford. 

*Buffin.] Whether literally of &tt^ leather, or eoane ttuff 
of that colour, does not appear. — Nares. 



8C. lY. THE CITY MADAM. JO/ 

L, Frug. O, good brother ! 
Do you thus preserve your protestation to me ? 
Can queens envy this habit ? or did Juno 
E'er feast in such a shape ? 

Anne, You talk'd of Hebe, 
Of Iris, and I know not what ; but were they 
Dress'd as we are ? they were sure some chandler's 

daughters 
Bleaching linen in Moorfields. 

Mary, Or Exchange wenches. 
Coming from eating pudding-pies on a Sunday, 
At Pimlico or Islington. 

Luke, Save you, sister ! 
I now dare style you so : you were before 
Too glorious to be look'd on ; now you appear 
Like a city matron, and my pretty nieces 
Such things as were born and bred there. Why 

should you ape 
The fashions of court-ladies, whose high titles. 
And pedigrees of long descent, give warrant 
For their superfluous bravery ? 'twas monstrous : 
Till now you ne'er look'd lovely. 

L, Frug, Is this spoken 
In scorn ? 

Luke, Fie ! no ; with judgment. I make good 
My promise, and now show you like yourselves. 
In your own natural shapes ; and stand resolved 
You shall continue so. 

L. Frug, It is confess'd, sir. 

Luke, Sir ! sirrah : use your old phrase, I can 
bear it. 

L, Frug, That, if you please, forgotten, we ac- 
knowledge 
We have deserved ill from you ; yet despair not. 



Though we are at your rlisposure, you '11 maintain us 
Like your brother's wife and daughters. 

Luke. 'Tis my purpose. 

L. Frug, And not make us ridiculous. 

Luhe. Admired rather. 
As fair examples for our proud city dames. 
And their proud brood to imitate. Do not frown ; 
If you do, I laugh, and glory that I have 
The power, in you, to scourge a general vice. 
And rise up a new satirist : but hear gently. 
And in a gentle phrase I '11 reprehend 
Your late disguised deformity, and cry up 
This decency and neatness, with the advantage 
You shall receive by 't. 

L, Frug. We are bound to hear you. 

Luke. With a soul inclined to learn. Your 
father was 
An honest country farmer, goodman Humble, 
By his neighbours ne'er called Master. Did your 

pride 
Descend from him ? but let that pass : your fortune. 
Or rather your husband's industry, advanced you 
To the rank of a merchant's wife. He made a 

knight. 
And your sweet mistress- ship ladyfied, you wore 
Satin on solemn days, a chain of gold, 
A velvet hood, rich borders, and sometimes 
A dainty miniver cap^, a silver pin 

> A miniver cap.^ Miniver, as I learn from Cotgrave, is the 
fur of the ermine mixed with that of the small weasel, {menu 
vair,) called gris or gray. In the days of our author, and in- 
deed long before, the use of furs was almost universal. The 
nobility had them of ermine and sable, the wealthy merchants 
of vair and gray, (the dainty miniver of Luke,) and the lower 



Headed with a pearl worth three-pence ; and thus 

far 
You were privileged, and no man envied it ; 
It being for the city's honour that 
There should be a distinction between 
The wife of a patrician, and plebeian. 

Mill. Pray you, leave preaching, or choose some 
other text : , 
Your rhetoric is too moving, for it makes 
Your auditory weep. 

Luke, Peace, chattering magpie ! 
1 11 treat of you anon. — But when the height 
And dignity of London's blessings grew 
Contemptible, and the name lady mayoress 
Became a by-word, and you scom'd the means 
By which you were raised, my brother's fond in- 
dulgence 
Giving the reins to it, and no object pleased you 
But the glittering pomp and bravery of the court. 
What a strange, nay monstrous, metamorphosis 

follow'd ! 
No English workman then could please your fancy. 
The French and Tuscan dress your whole discourse ; 
This bawd to prodigality, entertain'd 
To buzz into your ears what shape this countess 
Appear'd in the last masque, and how it drew 
The young lord's eyes upon her ; and this usher 
Succeeded in the eldest prentice' place. 
To walk before you 

L. Frug. Pray you, end. 

order of people of such home materials as were easiest procured^- 
squirrel, lamb, and, above all, rabbits* skins. For this last article 
the demand was anciently so great, that innumerable warrens 
were established in the vicinity of ihe metropolis.-^GiFFORD. 



I Hold, Proceed, sir: 

* I could fast almost a prenticeship to hear you. 

You touch them so to the quick. 

Luke. Then, as I said. 
The reverend hood cast oflP, your horrow'd hair, 
Powder'd and curl'd, was by your dresser's art 
Form'd like a coronet, hang'd with diamonds. 
And the richest orient pearl ; your carcanets 
That did adorn your neck, of equal value ; 
Your Hungerland bands, and Spanish quelUo rufis 
Great lords and ladies feasted to survey 
Embroider'd petticoats ; and sickness feign'd. 
That your night-rails of forty pounds a piece 
Might be seen, with envy, of the visitants ; 
Rich pantofles in ostentation shown. 
And roses worth a family* : you were served i 

plate ; 
Stirr'd not a foot without your coach ; and going 
To church, not for devotion, but to show 
Your pomp, you were tickled when the begga 

cried. 
Heaven save your honour 1 this idolatry 
Paid to a painted room. 

1 Quellio ruffs,] i. e. rtiffs for the neck, Queilio is a cc 
ruption of cuello, which is Spanish for a collar. Luke ftunish 
the most complete picture of the dress, manneis, &c. of tl 
different classes of citizens* wives at that time, that is to i 
found on the ancient stage. 

« Roses -worlh a family.] These knots of ribands for tl 
shoes were exceedingly large ; and it appears from Stow tfa 
they were extremely dear. ^^ Concerning ^oe-roset dther 
silke or what stuffe soever, they were not then (in die reign 
queen Elizabeth) used nor known ; nor was there any garte 
above the price of five shillings a payre, altho at this di 
(James I.) men of meane rank weaxegartert and Aoe^-rtmes 
more than five pounds price." P. 10&. fol. 1631. 



Hdd, Na^, you have reason 
To blubber, all of you. 

Luke, And when you lay 
In childbed, at the christening of this minx, 
I well remember it, as you had been 
An absolute princess, since they have no more. 
Three several chambers hung, the first with arras. 
And that for waiters ; the second crimson satin. 
For the meaner sort of guests ; the third of scarlet 
Of the rich Tyrian dye ; a canopy 
To cover the brat's cradle ; you in state. 
Like Pompey's Julia. 

L, Frug, No more, I pray you. 

Luke. Of this, be sure, you shall not. 1 '11 cut off 
Whatever is exorbitant in you 
Or in your daughters, and reduce you to 
Your natural forms and habits ; not in revenge 
Of your base usage of me, but to fright 
Others by your example : 'tis decreed 
You shall serve one another, for I will 
Allow no waiter to you. Out of doors 
With these useless drones ! 

Hold. Will you pack ? 

Mill. Not till I have 
My trunks along with me. 

Luke. Not a rag ; you came 
Hither without a box. 

Star. You '11 show to me, 
I hope, sir, more compassion. 

Hold. Troth I '11 be 
Thus far a suitor for him : he hath printed 
An almanack, for this year, at his own charge ; 
Let him have the impression with him, to set up 
with. 



Luke. For once I *11 be entreated ; let it be 
Thrown to him out of the window- * 

Star. O cursed stars 
That reign'd at my nativity ! how have you cheated 
Your poor observer ! 

Anne, Must we part in tears ? 

Mary, Farewell, good Milliscent ! 

L. Frug. I am sick^ and meet with 
A rough physician. O my pride and scorn ! 
How justly am I punish'd ! 

Mary. Now we suffer 
For our stubbornness and disobedience 
To our good father. 

Anne. And the base conditions 
We imposed upon our suitors. 

Luke. Get you in. 
And cater\vaul in a comer. 

L. Frug. There 's no contending. 

[JjhDY Frugal, Anne, and Mary, go off at one 
door. Stargaze and Milliscent at the other, 

Luke. How 
Lik'st thou my carriage. Holdfast? 

Hold. Well in some parts ; 
But it relishes, I know not how, a little 
Of too much tyranny. 

Luke. Thou art a fool : 
He 's cruel to himself, that dares not be 
Severe to those that used him cruelly. {^Exeunt, 



Alii Y« TU£ UilX JMAi^AM. ilfO 

ACT V. SCENE I. 
A Room in Sir John Frugal'* House. 

Enter Luke^ Sir John Frugal, Sir Maurice 

Lacy, and Plenty. 

Luke, You care not then, as it seems, to be con- 
verted 
To our religion ? 

Sir John, We know no sucli word. 
Nor power but the devil, and him we serve for fear. 
Not love. 

Luke. I am glad that charge is saved. 

Sir John. We put 
That trick upon your brother, to have means 
To come to the city. Now, to you, we '11 discover 
The close design that brought us, with assurance. 
If you lend your aids to furnish us with that 
Which in the colony was not to be purchased. 
No merchant ever made such a return 
For his most precious venture, as you shall 
Receive from us ; far, far above your hopes. 
Or fancy, to imagine. 

Luke, It must be 
Some strange commodity, and of a dear value, 
(Such an opinion is planted in me 
You will deal fairly,) that I would not hazard : 
Give me the name of it- 

Sir Maur. I fear you will make 
Some scruple in your conscience, to grant it. 

Luke, Conscience! no, no; so it may be done 
with safety. 
And without danger of the law. 

VOL, II, o 



Plenty. For that. 
You shall sleep securely : nor shall it diminish. 
But add unto your heap such an increase. 
As what you now possess shall appear an atom. 
To the mountain it hrings with it. 

Luhe. Do not rack me 
With expectation. 

Sir John, Thus then in a word : 
The devil — why start you at his name ? if you 
Desire to wallow in wealth and worldly honours. 
You must make haste to be familiat with bim.-*-^ 
This devil, whose priest I am, and by him made 
A deep magician, (for I can do wonders,) 
Appear'd to me in Virginia, and commanded. 
With many stripes, for that 's bis cruel custom, 
I should provide, on pain of his fierce wratb^ 
Against the next great sacrifice> at which 
We, grovelling on our faces, fall before bim. 
Two Christian virgins, that, with tbeir pure 

blood. 
Might die his horrid altars ; and a third. 
In his hate to such embraces as are lawful. 
Married, and with your ceremonious rites, 
As an oblation unto Hecate, 
And wanton Lust, her favourite. 

Luke, A devilish custom ! 
And yet why should it startle me ? — There are 
Enough of the sex fit for this use ; but virgins. 
And such a matron as you speak of, hardly 
To be wrought to it. 

Plenty. A mine of gold, for a fee. 
Waits him that undertokes it and performs it. 

Sir Maur, Know you no distressed widow, or 
poor maids, 



SC. I. THE CITY MADAM* l^D 

Whose want of dower, though well bom, makes 

them weary 
Of their own country ? 

Sir John. Such as had rather be 
Miserable in another world, than where 
They have surfeited in felicity ? 

Luke. Give me leave ^ ^Walks aside, 

I would not lose this purchase. A grave matron I 
And two pure virgins ! Umph ! I think my sister. 
Though proud, was ever honest ; and my nieces 
Untainted yet. Why should not they be shipp'd 
For this employment ? they are burthensome to me. 
And eat too much ; and if they stay in London, 
They will find friends that, to my loss, will force me 
To composition : 'twere a masterpiece. 
If this could be effected. They were ever 
Ambitious of title: should I urge. 
Matching with these they shall live Indian queens. 
It may do much : but what shall I feel here. 
Knowing to what they are designed .'' they absent. 
The thought of them will leave me. It shall be 

so. IReturns, 

I '11 furnish you, and, to endear the service. 
In mine own family, and my blood too. 

Sir John. Make this good, and your house shall 
not contain 
The gold we '11 send you. 

Luke. You have seen my sister 
And my two nieces ? 

Sir John, Yes, sir. 

Luke, These persuaded 
How happily they shall Kve, and in what pomp. 
When they are in your kingdoms, for you must 

Work them a belief that vou are kings 

o2 



Plenty. We are so. 

Luke, I '11 put it in practice instantly *. Study you 
For moving language. Sister ! nieces ! 

< I^U put it in practice inttantly.^ Hitherto the character 
of Luke has heen supported with matchless judgment and 
dexterity : the present design, however, of sacrificing his bro- 
ther's wife and daughters to Lust and Hecate has always struck 
the critics as unnatural and improbable in the highest desree. 
*^ Bloody, indeed, it is ;** but is it out of character ? Luke is 
the creature of no ordinary hand, and he who conducted him 
thus fai with such unexampled skill was little likdy to desert 
him at the end. It appears that Massinger was desiious of 
showing, in the person of liuke, the hideous portraiture of 
avarice personified. The love of money is the ruling paasioa 
of his soul ; it gathers strength with indulgence ; and the pro- 
spect of such unbounded wealth as is here held out to him is 
properly calculated to overcome the fear of law, and the re- 
monstrances of the few scruples of oonsdenee whidi yet tor- 
ment him. 

History furnishes examples of men who have sacrificed friends, 
kindred, all, to the distant view of wealth ; and we might have 
known, without the assistance of Luke, that avarice^ while it 
depraves the feelings, enfeebles the judgment, and renders its 
votaries at once credulous and unnaturaL 

With respect to another objection which has been raised, that 
'' Luke is too much a man of the world to be so grossly imposed 
upon,** it LB more easily obviated. Instead of going back to the 
age of the poet, we inconsiderately bring him forward to our 
own, and invest him with all our knowledge. This is an evil 
as common as it is grievous. That the Indians do not worship 
the devil, we know; but did Massinger know it? Our old 
writers partook of the general credulity, and believed the 
wonders which they told ; they would not else have told them 
so welL All the first discoverers, and all the first historians, of 
America were themselves fully persuaded, and eamestty la« 
boured to persuade others, that the natives worshipped the derlL 
Every shapeless block, every rude stone painAifiy battored by 
the poor savages into a distant resemblance of aniiriatftd nature, 
md therefore prized by them, was, by their more savage viiit<mi|. 




Enter Lady Frugal^ Anne^ and Mary. 

How! 
Still mourning? dry your eyes, and clear these 

clouds 
That do obscure your beauties. Did y^|^|||||eve 
My personated reprehension, though 
It show'd like a rough anger, could be 
Forget the fright I put you in : my end 
In humbling you was to set off the height 
Of honour, principal honour, which my studies. 
When you least expect it, shall confer upon you ! 
Still you seem doubtful : be not wanting to 
Yourselves, nor let the strangeness of the means. 
With the shadow of some danger, render you 
Incredulous. 

L. Frug. Our usage hath been such. 
As we can faintly hope that your intents 
And language are the same. 

Luke. I 'U change those hopes 
To certainties. 

Sir John. With what art he winds about them ! 

[^Aside, 

Luke, What will you say, or what thanks shall 
I look for. 
If now I raise you to such eminence, as 
The wife and daughters of a dtisea 





taken for a repreflealMp "^^W^ - •'horn 

they offered hviiuMf^*^ ion, 

that the aathor of^L ^v 
yens 



Never arrived at ! many, for their wealth, I 

grant. 
Have written ladies of honour, and some few 
Have higher titles, and that 's the furthest rise 
You can in England hope for. What think you. 
If I shq uld m ark you out a way to live 
Quee^j^^feother climate ? 

Anjmllflk desire 
A coiPbtence. 

Mary, And prefer our country's smoke 
Before outlandish fire. 

jL. Frug, But should we listen 
To such impossibilities, 'tis not in 
The power of man to make it good. 

Luke. I '11 do it: 
Nor is this seat of majesty far removed ; 
It is but to Virginia, 

L. Frug. Howi Virginia! 
High heaven forbid ! Remember, sir, I beseech you. 
What creatures are shipp'd thither. 

Anne. Condemn'd wretches. 
Forfeited to the law. 

Mary, Who for th' abomination of their Hfe, 
Are cast from their own country. 

Luke, Your false fears 
Abuse my noble purposes. Such indeed 
Are sent as slaves to labour there ; but you. 
To absolute sovereignty. Observe these men. 
With reverence observe them : they are kings of 
Such spacious territories and dominions. 
As our Great Britain measured will appear 
A ^urden to it. 

Sir Maur. You shall be adored there 
As goddesses. 



Sir John. Your litters made of goM, 
Supported by your vassals^ proud to bear 
The burthen on their shoulders. 

Plenty* Pomp, and ease. 
With delicates that Europe never kaew. 
Like pages shall wait on you. 

Luke, If you have minds 
To entertain the greatness offer'd to you. 
With outstretched arms, and willing hands, em- 
brace it. 
But this refused, imagine what can make you 
Most miserable here ; and rest assured. 
In storms it falls upon you : take them in. 
And use your best persuasion. If that fail, 
I '11 send them aboard in a dry vat. 

[^Exeunt all but Sib John Fkuoal and Luke. 

Sir John, Be not moved, sir; 
We '11 work them to your will. Yet, ere we part. 
Your worldly cares deferr'd, a little mirth 
Would not misbecome us. 

Luke. You say well : and now 
It comes into my memory, 'tis my birthday. 
Which with solemnity I would observe. 
But that it would ask cost. 

Sir John. That shall not grieve you. 
By my art I will prepare you sudi a feast. 
As Persia, in her height of pomp and riot. 
Did never equal ; and such ravishing music 
As the Italian princes seldom heard 
At their greatest entertainments. Name your guests. 

Luke. 1 must have none. 

Sir John. Not the city senate ? 

Luke, No; 
Nor yet poor neighbours: the first would argue me 



Of foolish ostentation, and the latter 

Of too much hospitality ; a virtue 

Grown obsolete^ and useless. I will sit 

Alone, and surfeit in my store, while others 

With envy pine at it ; my genius pamper'd 

With the thought of what I am, and what they 

suffer 
I have mark'd out to misery. 

Sir John. You shall: 
And something I will add you yet conceive not. 
Nor will I be slow-paced. 

Luke. I have one business. 
And, that despatch'd, I am free. 

Sir John. About it, sir. 
Leave the rest to me. 

Luke. Till now I ne'er loved magic. [^Exeunt, 

SCENE II. 
Another Room in the same. 

Enter Lord Lacy, Goldwire senior, and Trade* 

WELL senior, 

L. Lacy. Believe me, gentlemen, I never was 
So cozen* d in a feUow. He disguised 
Hypocrisy in such a cunning shape 
Of real goodness, that I would have sworn 
This devil a saint. Masters Goldwire and Trade- 
well, 
What do you mean to do ? Put on *. 

Gold With your lordship's favour. 

L. Lacy. I 'U have it so. 

* Put Off,] L e. &e covered. 



Trade, Your will, my lord, excuses 
The rudeness of our manners. 

L. Lacy, You have received 
Penitent letters from your sons, I douht not ? 

Trade, They are our only sons. 

Gold, And as we are fathers, 
Rememhering the errors of our youth. 
We would pardon slips in them. 

Trade, And pay for them 
In a moderate way. 

Gold. In which we hope your lordship 
Will be our mediator. 

L, Lacy, All my power 

Enter Luke, richly dressed. 

You freely shall command; 'tis he ! You are well 

met. 
And to my wish, — and wondrous brave ! your habit 
Speaks you a merchant royals 

Luke, What I wear 
I take not upon trust. 

L. Lacy, Your betters may. 
And blush not for 't. 

Luke. If you have nought else with me 
But to argue that, I will make bold to leave you. 

L, Lacy, You are very peremptory; pray you 
stay : — 
I once held you 
An upright honest man. 

1 Merchant royal,'] This is not a mere sounding expression. 
The Sanudos, the Giustiniani, the Orimaldi of Venice, who 
erected principalities in the Archipelago, which their descendants 
enjoyed, and the Medici of Florence, were truly merchants royoL 
Sir Thomas Ghresham was, in' our own country, on account oT 
his great wealth and his transacting the mercantile business of 
Queen Elizabeth, commonly called The Royal Merchant, 



An it please your good lordship ! You are a noble- 
man; 
Pray you pay in my monies : the interest 
WiU eat faster in % than aquafortis in iron. 
Now though you bear me hard^ I love your lord- 
ship. 
I grant your person to be privileged 
Prom all arrests ; yet there lives a foolish creature 
Call'd an under-sheriff^ who, being well paid, will 

serve 
An extent * on lords or lowns* land. Pay it in : 
I would be loth your name should sink, or that 
Your hopeful son, when he returns from travel. 
Should find you my lord-without-land. You are 

angry 
For my good counsel : look you to your bonds ; had 

I known 
Of your coming, believe *t, I would have had Ser- 
jeants ready. 
Lord, how you fret ! but that a tavern's near. 
You should taste a cup of muscadine in my house, 
To wash down sorrow ; but there it will do better : 
I know you 11 drink a health to me. [^Exil. 

L. Lacy. To thy damnation. 
Was there ever such a villain ! heaven forgive me 
For speaking so unchristianly, though he deserves it. 
Gold, We are undone. 
Trade. Our families quite ruin'd. 
X. Lacy, Take courage, gentlemen ; comfort may 
appear. 
And punishment overtake him, when he least ex- 
pects it. {Exeunt* 

' An extent,] 1. e. an executiotu ' 



SCENE III. 

Another Room in the same. 

Enter Sir John Frugal and Holdfast. 

Sir John, Be silent, on your life. 

Hold. I am o'erjoy'd. 

Sir John. Are the pictures placed as I directed ? 

Hold, Yes, sir. 

Sir John. And the musicians ready ? 

Hold. All is done 
As you commanded. 

Sir John, {^goes to the door.'^ Make haste ; and 
be careml ; 
You know your cue and postures ? 

Plenty, ^within."^ We are perfect. 

Sir JoJm. *Tis well. The rest are come, too ? 

Hold. And disposed of 
To your own wish. 

Enter Servants with a rich banquet. 

Sir John. Set forth the table : so ! 
A perfect banquet. At the upper end. 
His chair in state : he shall feast like a prince. 

Hold. And rise like a Dutch hangman ^ 

^ A Dutch liangman,'] In some old account of the Low Coun- 
tries, while under the Spanish government, I remember to have 
read, among many things, that the office of a hangman was con. 
sidered so infamous, that no one would sit at table with him, or 
even touch the meat of which he partook. Not aware that such a 
passage would ever be of use to me, I made no reference, and 
cannot now discover the place. The allusion, however, to the 



•■ ^ J 



For your sons' truth, and they shall answer all 
They have run out : the masters never prosper'd 
Since gentlemen's sons grew prentices: when we 

look 
To have our business done at home, they are 
Abroad in the tennis-court, or in Partridge-alley, 
In Lambeth Marsh, or a cheating ordinary. 
Where I found your sons. I have your bonds, look 

to *t. 
A thousand pounds apiece, and that will hardly 
Repair my losses. 

L. Lacy, Thou dar'st not show thyself 
Such a devil I 

Luke, Good words. 

L. Lacy, Such a cut-throat ! I have heard of 
The usage of your brother's wife and daughters; 
You shall find you are not lawless, and that your 

monies 
Cannot justify your villanies. 

Luke, I endure this. 
And, good my lord, now you talk in time of monies. 
Pay in what you owe me. And give me leave to 

wonder 
Your wisdom should have leisure to consider 
The business of these gentlemen, or my carriage 
To my sister, or my nieces, being yourself 
So much in my danger ^ 

L, Lacy^ In thy danger? 

Luke, Mine. 
I find in my counting-house a manor pawn'd. 
Pawn d, my good lord ; Lacy manor, and that manor 
From which you have the title of a lord^ 

* In fny dang^^ i. e. in mf^ M^ 



Enter Luke. 
Sir John, Not a word more.- 



How like you the preparation ? Fill your room, 
And taste the cates ; then in your thought consider 
A rich man^ that lives wisely to himself^ 
In his full height of glory. 

Luke. I can hrook 
No rival in this happiness. How sweetly 
These dainties^ when unpaid for^ please my palate ! 
Some wine. Jove's nectar ! Brightness to the star 
That govem'd at my birth ! shoot down thy influ- 
ence. 
And with a perpetuity of being 
Continue this felicity, not gain'd 
By vows to saints above, and much less purchased 
By thriving industry ; nor fallen upon me 
As a reward to piety and religion. 
Or service to my country : I owe all 
This to dissimulation and the shape 
I wore of goodness. Let my brother number 
His beads devoutly, and believe his alms 
To beggars, his compassion to his debtors. 
Will wing his better part, disrobed of flesh. 
To soar above the firmament. I am well ; 
And so I surfeit here in all abundance. 
Though styled a cormorant, a cut-throat, Jew, 
And prosecuted with the fatal curses 
Of widows, undone orphans, and what else 

degraded state of common executioners on the continent is to be 
found in others of our old writers. Indeed, in one of Broome's 
comedies (Novella), a principal part of the plot is made to turn 
on the horror with which the hangman was regarded.— 

OlFFORD. 



8C. III. THE CITY MADAM. 207 

Such as malign my state can load me with^ 
I will not envy it. You promised music. 

Sir John. And you shall hear the strength and 
power of it. 
The spirit of Orpheus raised to make it good^ 
And, in those ravishing strains with whicn he moved 
Charon and Cerberus to give him way. 
To fetch from hell his lost Eurydice. 
— Appear ! swifter than thought ! [^Ahud. 

Music. Enter at one door Cerberus, at the other 
Charon, Orpheus, and Chorus. 

Luke. 'Tis wondrous strange ! 

fTAey represent the storif of Orpheus, with 
dance and gesture. 
Sir John, Does not the object and the accent 

take you ? 
Luke, A pretty fabled QExe. Or ph. and the rest.'] 
But that music should 
Alter in fiends their nature, is to me 
Impossible; since, in myself, I find 
What I have once decreed shall know no change. 
Sir John, You are constant to your purposes ; 
yet I think 
That I could stagger you. 
Luke. How? 

Sir John. Should I present 
Your servants, debtors, and the rest that sufier 
By your fit severity, I presume the sight 
Would move you to compassion. 
Luke. Not a mote. 

■ From this it appears that the fable of Orpheus and Eurydice 
was acted in dumb show. Few of Massinger's plays are with- 
out a masque or an interlude of some kind or other.— Oiffobd. 



The music that your Orpheus made was harsh 
To the delight I should receive in hearing 
Their cries and groans : if it be in your power> 
I would now see them. 

Sir John, Spirits^ in their shapes^ 
Shall show them as they are : but if it should move 
you? 

Luke. If it do, may I ne'er find pity ! 

Sir John. Be your own judge.— — 
Appear ! as I commanded ! 

Sad Music* Enter GohDwin^ Junior, and Trade- 
WELL junior, as from prison ; Fortune, Hoyst, 
and Penury 5 Serjeants with Tradewell 86" 
nior, and Goldwire senior; — these followed by 
Shave'em, in a blue gown. Secret, aitcf Dinge'm ; 
they all kneel to Luke, lifting up their hands. 
Stargaze is seen with a pack of almanacks, and 
Milliscent. 

Luke. Ha, ha, ha ! 
This move me to compassion, or raise 
One sign of seeming pity in my face ! 
You are deceived : it rather renders me 
More flinty and obdurate. A south wind 
Shall sooner soften marble, and the rain 
That slides down gently from his flaggy wings 
Overflow the Alps, than knees, or tears, or groans. 
Shall wrest compunction from me. 'Tis my glory 
That they are wretched and by me made so ; 
It sets my happiness off: I could not triumph 
If these were not my captives. — Ha ! my terriers. 
As it appears, have seized on these old foxes. 
As I gave order ; new addition to 



My scene of mirth: ha, ha! — They now grow 

tedious ; 
Let them be removed. [^Exeunt Gold, and the rest 

ISome other object, if 
Your art can show it. 

Sir John, You shall perceive 'tis boundless. 
Yet one thing real, if you please. 
Luke. What is it ? 

Sir John, Your nieces, ere they put to sea, crave 
humbly. 
Though absent in their bodies, they may take leave 
Of their late Suitors* statues. 

Enter Lady Frugal, Anne, and Mary- 

Luke, There they hang : 
In things indifferent I am tractable. 

Sir John, There pay your vows, you have liberty. 

Anne, O sweet figure \Kneels, 

Of my abused Lacy * ! when removed 
Into another world, I '11 daily pay 
A sacrifice of sighs to thy remembrance ; 
And with a shower of tears strive to wash off 
The stain of that contempt my foolish pride 
And insolence threw upon thee. 

Mary, I had been 

1 My abused Lacy !] There is some difficulty in understand- 
ing the mechanism of mis scene. Massinger, like all his con- 
temporaries, confounds statue with picture, and this creates 
confusion. It seems as if Lacy and Plenty by some con- 
trivance stood within the frames, and in the exact dress and 
attitudes of their respective portraits, which Sir John appears 
to have procured, and, after taking out the canvas, hung up in 
the back part of the room; from whence, at a preconcerted 
signal, they descend and come forward. The direction, in the 
quarto, is, Plenty and Lacy ready behind, — Oifford. 
VOL. II. P 



210 THE CITY MADAM. ACT V. 

Too happy if I had enjoy *d the substance ; 
But far unworthy of it, now I fall 
Thus prostrate to thy statue. rKneels, 

L. Frug. My kind husband, i^KneeU, 

(Bless'd in my misery,) from the monastery 
To which my disobedience confined thee. 
With thy soul's eye, which distance cannot hinder. 
Look on my penitence. O, that I could 
Call back time past ! thy holy vow dispensed. 
With what humility would I observe 
My long-neglected duty ! 

Sir John. Does not this move you ? 
Luke. Yes, as they do the statues, and her sorrow 
My absent brother. If, by your magic art, 
You can give life to these, or bring him hither 
To witness her repentance, I may have. 
Perchance, some feeling of it. 

Sir John, For your sport 
You shall see a masterpiece. Here 's nothing but 
A superficies ; colours, and no substance. 
Sit still, and, to your wonder and amazement, 
I '11 give these organs. This the sacrifice 
To make the great work perfect. 

[^Burns incense, and makes mystical gesticu-' 
lations. Sir Maurice Lacy and Plenty 
give signs of animation* 
Luke, Prodigious! 

Sir John. Nay^ they have life and motion. De- 
scend ! 

QSiR Maurice Lacy and Plenty descend 
and come forward. 
And for your absent brother, — this wash'd oflf^ 
Against your will you shall know him. 

^Disanters himself. 



Enter Lord Lacy^ with Goldwire senior and 
junior, Tradewell senior and junior, the 
Debtors, Sfc, ^c, as before. 

Luke. I am lost. 
Guilt strikes me dumb. 

Sir John, You have seen, my lord, the pageant ? 

L, Lacy. I have^ and am ravish'd with it. 

Sir John, What think you now 
Of this clear soul } this honest, pious man ? 
Have I stripp'd him bare, or will your lordship have 
A further trial of him? 'Tis not in 
A wolf to change his nature. 

L, Lacy. I long since 
Confess'd my error. 

Sir John, Look up ; I forgive you. 
And seal your pardons thus. 

{JRaises and embraces Lady Frugal, Anne, 
and Mary. 

L, Frug. I am too fuU 
Of joy, to speak it. 

Anne. I am another creature ; 
Not what I was. 

Mary. I vow to show myself. 
When I am married, a humble wife. 
Not a commanding mistress. 

Plenty, On those terms 
I gladly thus embrace you. \^To Mary. 

Sir Maur. Welcome to 
My bosom : as the one half of myself 
I '11 love and cherish you. [^To Anne. 

Gold, jun, Mercy ! 

Trade, jun. and the rest. Good sir, mercy ! 

Sir John, This day is sacred to it. All shall find me, 

p2 



212 THE CITY MADAM. ACT V. 

As far as lawful pity can give way to 't. 

Indulgent to your wishes^ though with loss 

Unto myself. — My kind and honest brother. 

Looking into yourself, have you seen the Gorgon ? 

What a golden dream you have had, in the possession 

Of my estate ! — but here 's a revocation 

That wakes you out of it. Monster in nature! 

Revenge^l, avaricious atheist. 

Transcending all example ! — but I shall be 

A sharer in thy crimes should I repeat them— - 

What wilt thou do ? turn hypocrite again. 

With hope dissimulation can aid thee ? 

Or that one eye will shed a tear in sign 

Of sorrow for thee ? I have warrant to 

Make bold with mine own, pray you uncase : this 

key, too, 
I must make bold with. Hide thyself in some desert. 
Where good men ne'er may find thee ; or in justice 
Pack to Virginia, and repent ; not for 
Those horrid ends to which thou didst design these. 
Luke. I care not where I go : what 's done, with 
words 
Cannot be undone. {^Exil. 

L, Frug, Yet, sir, show some mercy; 
Because his cruelty to me and mine 
Did good upon us. 

Sir John, Of that at better leisure. 
As his penitency shall work me. Make you good 
Your promised reformation, and instruct 
Our city dames, whom wealth makes proud, to move 
In their own spheres ; and willingly to confess. 
In their habits, manners, and their highest port, 
A distance 'twixt the city and the court. 

[Exeunt, 



THE 



UNNATURAL COMBAT. 



The Ukkatural Combat.] This tragedy was one of 
Massinger's earliest productions. It was first published in 
1639. The title-page informs us that it was acted by the 
^^ King's majesty's servants, at the Globe.*' 

The two first acts are, perhaps, as vigorous and interesting 
as any thing our author has ever written ; and the third act, of 
which great part has been retained in the present publicadon 
for the sake of the animated episode of Bdgarde, is also enter- 
taining; but the rest of the play, notwithstanding many 
forcible and eloquent passages, is in the highest degree ofiensiTe 
from the disgusting tenor of the incidents introiduoed; and 
every reader of good taste and feeling will be thankful for 
being spared the perusal of them. 



TO 
XY MUCH HOKOVRED FKIEKD, 

ANTHONY SENTLEOER, 

OF OAfHAX IK KEKT, ESQ. 
8IB, 

That the pAtnmage of trifles, in this li^nA^ hath long 
since rendered dedications and inscriptions obsolete and out 
of fiubion, I perfectly understaod, and cannot bat ingennonaly 
ooafietM, that I, waOong in the same path, may be.tniljr argued 
by you of weakness, or wilfbl errors but the seasons and 
defences for the tender of my service this way to yon are so 
just, that I cannot (in my thankfulness tat so many ikvous 
receiyed) but be ambitioiis to puUish them. Yooor noUe 
father. Sir Warfaam Sentleger ^whose remarkable virtBas mut 
be ever remembered), being, wnile he lived, a maMsT) ifinr Us 
pleasure, in poetry, feared not to hM convwse witti divers 
whose neoesntous fortunes nude it thefar proftssion^ among 
which, by the demencnr of his judgment, I was not in tibe 
last place admitted. You (the heir of his honour and estate) 
inherited his good incUnations to men of my poor quality, c^ 
which I cannot sive any ampler testimony than by my free 
and glad profesiMMi of it to me world. Besides (sod it was 
not the least encouragement to me)many of wninwic^ and the 
best of such, who disdained not to take notice of me^ have not 
thought thcmsdves disparaced, I dare not say honoured, to 
be cdebrated the patrons of my humUe studies. In the first 
file of whidi, I am confident, you shall have no cause to Uudi 
to find your name written. I present you with this dd tragedy, 
without prologue or epilogue, it being composed in a time (and 
that too, peradventure, as knowing as tnis) when sudi by* 
ornaments were not advanced above the ftbric of the whde 
work. Accept it, I beseedi you, as it is, and continue your 
favour to the author, 

Your servant, 

PHILIP MASSINOER. 



DRAMATIS PERSONiE. 

Beaufort tenior^ governor ofMartMet, 

Bi:a\j TORT junior, his son. 

Malefort senior, admiral of Marseilles. 

Malefort junior, his son, 

Chamont, ^ 

MoNTATOKE, > assistants to the governor, 

Lanour, j 

3I0KTREVILLE, a pretetided friend to Malefort senior, 

Belgrade, a poor captain. 

Three Sea Captains, of the navy of Mal^tort Junior. 

A Steward, 

Ah Usher, 

A Page, 

Theocrike, daughter to Malefort senior. 
Two Waiting'Women. 

Servants and Soldiers, 

SC£N£, Marseilles. 



THE * 

UNNATURAL COMBAT. 



ACT I. SCENE I. 

A Hall in the Court of Justice, 

Enter Montreville^ Theocrine^ Ushery Page, 

and Waiting-women, 

Montr, Now to be modesty madam^ when you 
are 
A suitor for you father, would appear 
Coarser than boldness ; you awhile must part with 
Soft silence, and the blushings of a virgin : 
Though I must grant, did not this cause com- 
mand it. 
They are rich jewels you have ever worn 
To all men's admiration. In this age^ 
If, by our own forced importunity. 
Or others' purchased intercession, or 
Corrupting bribes, we can make our approaches 
To justice, guarded from us by stem power. 
We bless the means and industry. 

Ush, Here 's music 
In this bag shall wake her, thou^ she had drunk 
opium. 



V^ 1,^ 1^ 4X X KJ A**MMJ Xy \^ JJA A^AA A 



Or eaten mandrakes ^ Let commanders talk 
Of cannons to make breaches, give but fire 
To this petard*, it shall blow open, madam. 
The iron doors of a judge, and make you entrance ; 
When they (let them do what they can), with all 
Their mines, their culverins, and basiliscos. 
Shall cool their feet without ; this being the pick- 
lock 
That never fails. 

Montr. 'Tis true, gold can do much. 
But beauty more. Were I the governor. 
Though the admiral, your father, stood convicted 
Of what he 's only doubted, half a dozen 
Of kisses, lady, from these cherry lips. 
Should sign his general pardon. 

Theoc. These light words, sir, 
Do ill become the weight of my sad fortune ; 
And I much wonder, you, that do profess 
Yourself to be my father's bosom fnend. 
Can raise mirth from his misery. 

Montr. You mistake me ; 
I share in his calamity, and only 
Deliver my thoughts freely, what I should do 
For such a rare petitioner : and if 
You '11 follow the directions I prescribe. 
With my best judgment I '11 mark out the way 
For his enlargement. 

1 Mandrakes,] Dr. Hill observes, that ^^ the mandrake 
has a soporific quality, and that it was used by the ancieDts 
when they wanted a narcotic of a most powerful kind.*' To 
this there are perpetual allusions in our old wiiten.^ 

GiFFORD. 

^ Petard^] i. e. an engine, containing gunpowder, uied Sn 
blowing up towns. 



8C. I. THE UNNATURAL COICBAT. 219 

Tkeoc, With all real joy 
I shall put what jou counsel into act^ 
Provided it he honest. 

Enter 'Beavfort junior, and Belgrade. 

Montr, Here 's hrave young Beaufort^ 
The meteor of Marseilles S one that holds 
The governor his father's will and power 
In more awe than his own ! 
Bum your petition^ bum it ; he dotes on you. 
Upon my knowledge. Come^ come, advance ; 
Be the cause right or wrong, you'll have your father 
Released with much facility. [^Exit, 

Beauf,jun, There is neither 
Employment yet, nor money. 

Belg> I have commanded. 
And spent my own means in my country's service. 
In hope to raise a fortune. 

Beauf, jun. Many have hoped so; 
But hopes prove seldom certainties with soldiers. 

Belg, If no preferment, let me but receive 
My pay that is behind, to set me up 
A tavern. 

Beauf, jun. As our prizes are brought in. 
Till then you must be patient. 

Belg, In the mean time. 
How shall I do for clothes } 

* Marseillei,'\ It may be proper to observe here, once for 
all, that Marseilles, or, as Massinger spells it, Marsellis, is 
commonly used by him as a trisyllable, which, in fact, it is.—* 

GiFFORD. 



220 THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. ACT 1. 

Beauf.jun, As most captains do : 
Philosopher-like, carry all you have about you'. 

Belg, But how shall I do to satisfy ooLonS 
monsieur ? 
There lies the doubt. 

Beauf.jun. That 's easily decided ; 
]My father's table 's free for any man 
That hath borne arms. 

Belg, And there 's good store of meat ? 

Beauf.jun. Never fear that. 

Belg. I '11 seek no other ordinary then^ 
But be his daily guest without invitement ; 
And if my stomach hold, I '11 feed so heartily. 
As he shall pay me suddenly to be quit of me. 

Beauf, juiu 'Tis she. 

Belg. And further 

Beauf. jun. Away, you are troublesome ; 
Designs of more weight 

Belg. Ha ! fair Theocrine ! 
This is, indeed, great business ; mine, a gewgaw. 
I may dance attendance ; this must be despatch'd> 
And suddenly, or all will go to wreck. \JExit, 

Beauf.jun. praising Theoc.from her kneetJ^ 
Nay, pray you, madsun, rise, or I'll kneel with 

you. 
What is it can deserve so poor a name 

1 PhUosoj)her'like, carry all you have about yon.] Alluding 
to the well-knowQ saying of Simonides, Omnia mea mecum 
porta, — G »TOR D. 

« ColonA i. e. the crtningt of Itunger: the m&>m it the 
largest of die human intestinea. It frequently ooeiin in the 
same sense as here in our old poets*— jG iff o an. 



flC. I^ THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. 221 

As a suit to me ? This more than mortal form 
Was fashion'd to command^ and not entreat : 
Your will but known is served. 

Theoc. Great sir ! my father^ 
My brave, deserving father; — but that sorrow 
Forbids the use of speech 

Beauf.jun. I understand you. 
Without the aids of those interpreters 
That fall from your fair eyes : I know you labour 
The liberty of your father ; at the least. 
An equal ^ hearing to acquit himself: 
And, 'tis not to endear my service to you. 
Though I must add> and pray with patience hear 

it, 
'Tis hard to be effected, in respect 
The state 's incensed against him : all presuming. 
The world of outrages his impious son^ 
Tum'd worse than pirate in his cruelties. 
Expressed to tliis poor country, could not be 
With such ease put in execution, if 
Your father, of late our great admiral. 
Held not or correspondence, or connived 
At his proceedings. 

Theoc. And must he then suffer. 
His cause unheard ? 

Beauf, jun. As yet it is resolved so 
In their determination. But suppose 
(For I would nourish hope, not kill it, in you) 
I should divert the torrent of their purpose. 
And render them, that are implacable. 
Impartial judges, and not sway'd with spleen ; 
Will you, I dare not say in recompense. 
For that includes a debt you cannot owe me, 

* Equal,] i. e. jutt, impartial. 



222 THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. ACT I. 

But in jour liberal bounty^ in mj suit 
To you, be gracious ? 

Theoc, You entreat of me, sir. 
What I should offer to you, with confession 
That you much undervalue your own worth. 
Should you receive me, since there come with you 
Not passionate fires, but fair and lawfiil flames. 
But I must be excused ; 'tis now no time 
For me to think of hymeneal joys. 
Can he (and pray you, sir, consider it) 
That gave me life, and faculties to love. 
Be, as he 's now, ready to be devour'd 
By ravenous wolves, and at that instant I 
But entertain a thought of those delights. 
In which, perhaps, my ardour meets with yours ? 
Duty and piety forbid it, sir. 

Beauf. jun. But this effected, and your father 
free. 
What is your answer ? 

Theoc, Every minute to me 
Will be a tedious age, till our true love 
Receives my father's sanction. 

Beauf, jun, I urge no more. 

Ush> They are the loving'st couple ! 

Enter Beaufort senior, Montaigne, Chamont, 

and Lanour. 

Beauf.jun, Here comes my father. 
With the Council of War : deliver your petition. 
And leave the rest to me. 

[[Tueocrinb offers a paper. 

Beauf, sen, I am sorry, lady. 
Your father's guilt compels your innocence 
To ask what I in justice must deny. 



8C. I. THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. 223 

Beauf,jun, ¥oi my sake, sir, pray you receive 
and read it. 

Beauf, sen. Thou foolish boy ! I can deny thee 
nothing. [^Takes ike paper Jrom Theoc. 

Beauf, jun. Thus far we are happy^ madam: 
quit the place ; 
You shgdl hear how we succeed. 

Theoc, Goodness reward you ! 

\_Exeunt Theocrine, Usher, Page, and Women. 

Mont. It is apparent j and we stay too long 
To censure Malefort* as he deserves. 

[_They lake their seats. 

Cham. There is no colour of reason that makes 
for him : 
Had he discharged the trust committed to him^ 
With that experience and fidelity 
He practised heretofore^ it could not be 
Our navy should be block'd up^ and, in our sight. 
Our goods made prize, our sailors sold for slaves. 
By his prodigious* issue. 

Lan. I much grieve. 
After so many brave and high achievements. 
He should in one ill forfeit all the good 
He ever did his country. 

Beauf. sen. Well, 'tis granted^. 



» To censure Malefort, &c.] Censure, i. e. pius sentence on. 
— Malefort is here, and generaUy throughout the play, pro- 
perly used as a trisyllable. 

' Prodigious.'] i. e. unnatural, horrible. 

3 Well, 'tis granted.] It appears, from the subsequent 
speeches, that young Beaufort had been soliciting his father 
to allow Aialefort to plead without his chains.— GiF ford. 



224 THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. ACT I. 

Beauf^jun. I humbly thank you, sir. 

Beauf, sen. He shall have hearing. 
His irons too struck off. Bring him before us ; 
But seek no further favour. 

Beatif. jun. Sir, I dare not. ^Exii. 

Beauf, sen. Monsieur Chamont, Montaigne, 
Lanour, assistants. 
By a commission from the most christian king. 
In punishing or freeing Malefort, 
Our late great admiral ! though I know you need 

not 
Instructions from me, how to dispose of 
Yourselves in this man's trial, that exacts 
Your clearest judgments, give me leave, with 

favour. 
To offer my opinion. We are to hear him, 
A little looking back on his fair actions. 
Loyal, and true demeanour ; not as now 
By the general voice already he 's condemn'd. 
But if we find, as most believe, he hath held 
Intelligence with his accursed son. 
Fallen off from all allegiance, and tum'd 
(But for what cause we know not) the most bloody 
And fatal enemy this country ever 
Repented to have brought forth; without com- 
passion 
Of what he was, or may be, if now pardon'd ; 
We sit engaged to censure him with all 
Extremity and rigour. 

Cham. Your lordship shows us 
A path which we will tread in. 

Lan. He that leaves 
To follow, as you lead, will lose himself. 



SC. I. THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. 225 

Mont, I '11 not be singular. 

Re-enter Be au fort junior, with Montr eville, 
Malefort senior, Belgrade^ and Officers, 

Beauf. sen. He comes^ but with 
A strange distracted look. 

Malejf, sen. Live I once more * 
To see these hands and arms free! these^ that^ 

often. 
In the most dreadful horror of a fight. 
Have been as seamarks to teach such as were 
Seconds in my attempts, to steer between 
The rocks of too much daring, and pale fear. 
To reach the port of victory ! when my sword, * 
Advanced thus, to my enemies appear'd 
A hairy comet, threatening death and ruin 
To such as durst behold it ^ ! These the legs. 
That, when our ships were grappled, carried me 
With such swift motion from deck to deck. 
As they that saw it, with amazement cried. 
He does not run, but flies ! 



» *, 



^lalef. sen. Live I once more^ &c.] There is something 
very striking in the indignant burst of savage ostentation with 
which this old warrior introduces himself on the scene.-^ 

GiFFORD. 

^ A hairy cornet^ &c.] From this, and the passage in the 
text, Milton, who appears, by various marks of imitation, to 
have been a careful reader of Massinger, probably formed the 
magnificent and awful picture which follows : 

" On the other side. 

Incensed with indignation, Satan stood 
Unterrified, and like a comet bunt'd, 
That Rres the length of Ophiuchus huge 
In the arctic sky, and from his horrid hair 
Shakes pestilence and war.** — Gifford. 

VOL. II. Q 



226 THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. ACT I. 

Mont, He still retains 
The greatness of bis spirit. 

Maltf. sen. Now crampt with irons^ 
Hunger, and cold, they hardly do support me— 
But I forget myself. O, my good lords. 
That sit there as my judges, to determine 
The life and death of Malefort, where are now 
Those shouts, those cheerful looks, those loud 

applauses. 
With which, when I retum'd loaden with spoil, 
You entertained your admiral } all 's forgotten ; 
And I stand here to give account of that 
Of which I am as free and innocent 
As he that never saw the eyes of him 
For whom I stand suspected. 

Beauf. sen. Monsieur Malefort, 
Let not your passion so far transport you. 
As to believe from any private malice. 
Or envy to your person, you are question'd : 
Nor do the suppositions want weight. 
That do invite us to a strong assurance. 
Your son 

Malef. sen. My shame ! 

Beauf. sen. Pray you, hear with patience^ — 
never. 
Without a'Jsistance or sure aids from you. 
Could, with the pirates of Argiers and Tunis, 
£ven those that you had almost twice defeated^ 
Acquire such credit as with them to be 
Made absolute commander, (pray you observe me,) 
If there had not some contract pass'd between you. 
That, when occasion served, you would join with 

them. 
To the ruin of Marseilles ? 



SC. I. THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. 227 

Mont, More> what urged 
Your son to turn apostata? 

Cham, Had he from 
The state^ or governor, the least neglect. 
Which envy could interpret for a wrong ? 

Lan. Or, if you slept not in your charge, how 
could 
So many ships as do infest our coast. 
And have in our own harbour shut our navy, 
Come in unfought with ? 

Beauf.jun, They put him hardly to it. 

Malef. sen. My lords, with as much brevity as 
I can, 
I '11 answer each particular objection 
With which you charge me. The main ground 

on which 
You raise the building of your accusation 
Hath reference to my son : should I now curse himj 
Or wish, in the agony of my troubled soul. 
Lightning had found him in his mother's womb. 
You '11 say 'tis from the purpose ; and I, therefore^ 
Betake him * to the devil, and so leave him ! 
Did never loyal father but myself 
Beget a treacherous issue ? was *t in me 
To fashion up his mind? or must it follow. 

Because that he is impious, I am false ? 

I would not boast my actions, yet 'tis lawful 
To upbraid my benefits to unthankful men. 
Who sunk the Turkish galleys in the straits. 
But Malefort ? Who rescued the French mer- 
chants. 
When they were boarded, and stow'd under hatches 

1 Bclake him^ &c.] i. e. coisign, ?naAe htm over. 

q2 



228 THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. ACT I. 

By the pirates of Argiers, when every minute 

They did expect to be chain'd to the oar. 

But your now- doubted admiral? then you fill'd 

The air with shouts of joy, and did proclaim, 

When hope had left them, and grim-look'd despair 

Hover'd with sail-stretch'd wings * over their heads. 

To me, as to the Neptune of the sea. 

They owed the restitution of their goods. 

Their lives, their liberties. O, can it then 

Be probable, my lords, that he that never 

Became the master of a pirate's ship. 

But at the mainyard hung the captain up. 

And caused the rest to be thrown overboard. 

Should, after all these proofs of deadly hate, 

80 oft expressed against them, entertain 

A thought of quarter with them ; but much less 

(To the perpetual ruin of my glories) 

To join with them to lift a wicked arm 

Against my mother-country, this Marseilles, 

Which, with my prodigal expense of blood, 

I have so oft protected ! 

Beauf. sen. What you have done 
Is granted and applauded ! but yet know 
This glorious ^ relation of your actions 
Must not so blind our judgments as to suffer 
This most uimatural crime you stand accused of 
To pass unquestion'd. 

Chain. No ; you must produce 
Reasons of more validity and weight 

1 SiuUst retched -ccings, &c.] Jonson, Fletcher, and Milton, 
t- \.\ have the same bold expression : the original to which they 
are all indebted is, perhaps, a sublime passage in the Fairy 
i^l'Cni^ li. I. c. xi. SL 10. OlFFORD. 

"* (Honour,] I e. rain, boastful, from the Latin ghriotui. 



SC. I. THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. 229 

To plead in your defence, or we shall hardly 
Conclude vou innocent. 

Mont. The large volume of 
Your former worthy deeds^ with your experience 
Both what and when to do, hut makes against you. 

Lan, For had your care and courage heen the 
same 
As heretofore, the dangers we are plunged in 
Had been with ease prevented. 

Malef, sen. What have I 
Omitted, in the power of flesh and blood. 
Even in the birth to strangle the designs of 
This hell-bred wolf my son ? Alas I my lords, 
I am no god, nor like him could foresee 
His cruel thoughts and cursed purposes: 
Nor would the sun at my command forbear 
To make his progress to the other world. 
Affording to us one continued light. 
Nor could ray breath disperse those foggy mists, 
Cover'd with which, and darkness of the night. 
Their navy undiscem'd, without resistance. 
Beset our harbour : make not that my fault. 
Which you in justice must ascribe to fortune.—- 
But if that nor my former acts, nor what 
I have delivered, can prevail with you. 
To make good my integrity and truth. 
Rip up this bosom, and pluck out the heart 
That hath been ever loyal. [^A trumpet within. 

Beauf. sen. How ! a trumpet ? 
Inquire the cause. \_Exit Montreville. 

Malef. sen. Thou searcher of men's hearts. 
And sure defender of the innocent, 
(My other crying sins — awhile not look'd on) 
If I in this am guilty, strike me dead. 



230 THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. ACT I. 

Or by some unexpected means confirm 

I am accused unjustly ! ^Atide. 

Re-enter Montr eville tvitk a Sea Captain. 

Beaiif. sen. Speak, the motives 
That bring thee hither ? 

Capt. From our admiral thus : 
He does salute you fairly, and desires 
It may be understood no public hate 
Hath brought him to Marseilles; nor seeks he 
The ruin of his country, but aims only 
To wreak a private wrong : and if from you 
He may have leave and liberty to decide it 
In single combat, he '11 give up good pledges. 
If he fall in the trial of his right. 
We shall weigh anchor, and no more molest 
This town with hostile arms. 

Beauf. sen. Speak to the man. 
If in this presence he appear to you 
To whom you bring this challenge. 

Capt. 'Tis to you. 

Beauf, sen. His father ! 

Montr, Can it be ? 

Beauf. jun. Strange and prodigious ! 

Malef. sen. Thou seest I stand unmoved : were 
thy voice thunder. 
It should not shake me; say, what would the viper? 

Capt, The reverence a father's name may chal- 
lenge. 
And duty of a son, no more remember'd. 
He does defy thee to the death. 

Malef, sen. Go on. 

Capt, And with his sword will prove it on thy 
head. 



SC. I. THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. 231 

Thou art a murderer, an atheist ; 
And that all attributes of men turn'd furies 
Cannot express thee: this he will make good> 
If thou dar St give him meeting. 

Malef. sen. Dare I live? 
Dare I, when mountains of my sins o'erwhelm me. 
At my last gasp ask for mercy ? How I bless 
Thy coming, captain ! never man to me 
Arrived so opportunely ; and thy message. 
However it may seem to threaten death. 
Does yield to me a second life in curing 
My wounded honour. Stand I yet suspected 
As a confederate with this enemy. 
Whom of all men, against all ties of nature. 
He marks out for destruction? You are just. 
Immortal Powers, and in this merciful ; 
And it takes from my sorrow, and my shame 
For being the father to so bad a son, 
In that you are pleased to offer up the monster 
To my correction. Blush, and repent. 
As you are bound, ray honourable lords. 
Your ill opinions of me. Not great Brutus, 
The father of the Roman liberty. 
With more assured constancy beheld 
His traitor sons, for labouring to call home 
The banish'd Tarquins, scourged with rods to deaths 
Than I will show when I take back the life 
This prodigy of mankind received from me. 

Beauf. sen. We are sorry, monsieur Malefort, 
for our error. 
And are much taken with your resolution ; 
But the disparity of years and strength 
Between you and your son duly consider'd. 
We would not so expose you 



232 THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. ACT I. 

Alalef. sen. Then you kill me. 
Under pretence to save me. O my lords. 
As you love honour and a wrong'd man's fame. 
Deny me not this fair and noble means 
To make nie right again to all the world. 
Should any other but myself be chosen 
To punish this apostata with death. 
You rob a wretched father of a justice 
That to all after- times will be recorded. 
I wish his strength were centuple, his skill equal 
To my experience, that in his fall 
He may not shame my victory ! I feel 
The powers and spirits of twenty strong men in me. 
Were he with wild fire circled, I undaunted 
Would make way to him. — As you do affect, sir. 
My daughter Theocrine * ; as you are 
My true and ancient friend ; as thou art valiant^; 
And as all love a soldier, second me 

{They all sue to the Governor, 
In this my just petition. In your looks 
I see a grant, my lord. 

Beauf. sen. You shall overbear me; 
And since you are so confident in your cause. 
Prepare you for the combat. 

Malef sen. With more joy 
Than yet I ever tasted. By the next sun. 
The disobedient rebel shall hear from me, 

I T1ieocrine.'\ The word is used an a quadrisyllable. It 
should be observed, that as the story and the names are French, 
Massinger adopts the French mode of enouncing them. The 
reader must bear this in mind — Giffohd. 

' As thou art valiant. \ This is said to the captain who brought 
the challenge : the other persons adjured are Young Beaufort 
and 3Iontrcville. — GiFFoao. 



ACT II, THB UNNATURAL COMBAT. 233 

And 80 return in safety. [JTo the Captain J^ My 

good lords^ 
To all my service. — I will die, or purchase 
Rest to MarseiUes ; nor can I make doubt 
But his impiety is a potent charm. 
To edge my sword, and add strength to my arm. 

[^Exeunt, 



ACT II. SCENE I. 

An open Space without the City. 

Enter three Sea Captains, 

2 Capt. He did accept the challenge, then ? 
1 Capt. NsLj more. 

Was overjoy'd in 't ; and, as it had been 
A fair invitement to a solemn feast. 
And not a combat to conclude with death. 
He cheerfully embraced it. 

3 Capt. Are the articles 
Sign'd to on both parts ? 

1 Capt. At the father's suit. 

With much unwillingness the governor 
Consented to them. 

2 Capt. You are inward with 

Our admiral ; could you yet never learn 
What the nature of the quarrel is, that renders 
The son more than incensed, implacable. 
Against the father ? 

1 Capt. Never; yet I have. 
As far as manners would give warrant to it. 
With my best curiousness of care observed him. 



•J34 THE UNNATURAL COMBAT* ACT II. 

I have sat with him in his cahin a day together*. 

Yet not a syllable exchanged between us. 

Sigh he did often, as if inward grief 

And melancholy at that instant would 

Choke up his vital spirits, and now and then 

A tear or two, as in derision of 

The toughness of his rugged temper, would 

Fall on his hollow cheeks, which but once felt, 

A sudden flash of fury did dry up ; 

And laying then his hand upon his sword. 

He would murmur, but yet so as I oft heard him, 

We shall meet, cruel father ; yes, we shall ; 

When I '11 exact, for every womanish drop 

Of sorrow from these eyes, a strict accompt 

Of much more from thy heart. 

2 Capt. *Tis wondrous strange. 

3 Capt. And past my apprehension. 
1 Capt. Yet what makes 

The miracle greater, when from the maintop 
A sail 's descried, all thoughts that do concern 
Himself laid by, no lion, pinch'd with hunger. 
Rouses himself more fiercely from his den. 
Than he comes on the deck ; and there how wisely 
He gives directions, and how stout he is 
In his executions, we, to admiration. 
Have been eyewitnesses : yet he never minds 
The booty when 'tis made ours ; but as if 
The danger, in the purchase of the prey. 
Delighted him much more than the reward. 
His will made known, he does retire himself 

I / have sat vitfi him in his cabin,&c] Thi» beautiful passage, 
ex pressing concealed rcKentment, detterves to be remarked by 
every reader of taste and judgment — CoxETKft. 



SC. I. THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. 235 

To his private contemplation, no joy 
Expressed by him for victory. 

Enter Malbfout junior, 

2 Capt. Here he comes. 
But with more cheerful looks than ever yet 
I saw him wear. 

Malef. jun. It was long since resolved on. 
Nor must I stagger now in 't. May the cause 
That forces me to this unnatural act 
Be buried in everlasting silence. 
And I find rest in death or my revenge ! 
To either I stand equal. Pray you, gentlemen. 
Be charitable in your censures of me. 
And do not entertain a false belief 
That I am mad, for undertaking that 
Which must be, when effected, still repented. 
It adds to my calamity, that I have 
Discourse ^ and reason, and but too well know 
I can nor live, nor end a wretched life, 

1 It addt to my calamity, that I have 

DUcourse and reason.^ It is very difficult to determine the 
precise meaning which our ancestors gave to discourse, or to 
distinguish the line which separated it from reason. Perhaps 
it indicated a more rapid deduction of consequences from pre- 
mises, than was supposed to be effected by reason : — but I speak 
with hesitation. The acute Glanville says, ''The act of the 
mind which connects propositions, and deducetii conclusions from 
them, the schools call discourse ; and we shall not miscall it, if 
we name it reason.'*'' M^hatever be the sense, it frequently ap- 
pears in our old writers, by whom it is usually coupled with 
reason or judgment, which last should seem to be the more 
proper word — Gifford. 

31 r. Gifford*s note is retained, though the editor apprehends 
that discourse, in the above lines, simply means the faculty of 
speech. 



236 THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. ACT II. 

But both ways I am impious. Do not^ therefore. 

Ascribe the perturbation of my soul 

To a servile fear of death ; I oft have view'd 

All kinds of his inevitable darts. 

Nor are they terrible. Were I condemn'd to leap 

From the cloud-cover'd brows of a steep rock 

Into the deep ; or, Curtius like, to fill up. 

For my country's safety and an after-name, 

A bottomless abyss, or charge through fire. 

It could not so much shake me as th' encounter 

Of this day's single enemy. 

1 Capt. If you please, sir. 
You mav shun it, or defer it. 

Malef. jun. Not for the world : 
Yet two things I entreat you : the first is, 
You '11 not inquire the difference between 
Myself and him, which as a father once 
I honour'd, now my deadliest enemy ; 
The last is, if I fall, to bear my body 
Far from this place, and where you please inter 

it.— 
I should say more, but by his sudden coming 
I am cut off 

Enler 3ka\: fort junior and Montreville, lead- 
ing in Malefort senior; ^elgarde foUofving, 
with others. 

Beauf. jun. Let me, sir, have the honour 
To be your second. 

Montr. With your pardon, sir, 
I must put in for that, since out tried friendship 
Iluth lasted from our infancy. 

Be/g. I have served 
Under your command, and you have seen me fight, 
\nd handsomely, though I say it ; and if now. 



8C. I. THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. 237 

At this downright game^ I may but hold your cards^ 
1 11 not pull down the side '. 

MaleJ'. sen. I rest much bound 
To your so noble offers, and I hope 
Shall find your pardon, though I now refuse them ; 
For which I '11 yield strong reasons, but as briefly 
As the time will give me leave. For me to borrow 
(That am supposed the weaker) any aid 
From the assistance of my second's sword. 
Might write me down in the black list of those 
That have nor fire nor spirit of their own ; 
But dare and do as they derive their courage 
From his example, on whose help and valour 
They wholly do depend. Let this suffice. 
In my excuse, for that. Now, if you please. 
On both parts, to retire to yonder mount. 
Where you, as in a Roman theatre, 
May see the bloody difference determined, 
Your favours meet my wishes. 

Malef, jun. 'Tis approved of 
By me; and I command you \_To his Captains.'] 

lead the way. 
And leave me to my fortune. 

Beauf. jun. I would gladly 
Be a spectator (since I am denied 
To be an actor) of each blow and thrust. 
And punctually observe them. 

Male/', jun. You shall have 

' Full dortn the «i<f^,] i. e. injure your cause: the same 
expression occurs in The Grand Duke of Florence: — The allu- 
sion is to a party at cards x to set up a side was to become 
partners in a game; to pull or pluck down a side (for both 
these terms are found in our old plays) was to occasion its Iom 
by ignorance or treachery. — Gifford. 



238 THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. ACT II. 

All you desire ; for in a word or two 
I must make bold to entertain the time. 
If he give suffrage to it. 

Mcdef, sen. Yes, I will ; 
I '11 hear thee^ and then kill thee : nay, farewell. 

Male/, jun. Embrace with love on both sides, 
and with us 
Leave deadly hate and fury. 

Malef. sen. From this place 
You ne'er shall see both living. 

Belg. What 's past help is 
Beyond prevention. 

\_They embrace on both sides, and lake 
leave severally of the father and son. 

Malef sen. Now we are alone, sir ; 
And thou hast liberty to unload the burthen 
Which thou groan'st under. Speak thy griefs. 

Malef jun. I shall, sir ; 
But in a pcrplex'd form and method which 
You only can interpret : Would you had not 
A guilty knowledge in your bosom, of 
The language which you force me to deliver, 
So I were nothing ! As you are my father, 
I bend my knee, and, umiompcU'd, profess 
3Iy life, and all that *s mine, to be your gift ; 
And that in a son's duty I stand bound 
To lav this head beneath vour feet, and run 
All dcs])arate hazards for your ease and safety : 
But this c(mfest on my part, I rise up. 
And not as with a father, (all respect. 
Love, fear, and reverence Ciist off,) but as 
A wicked man, I thus expostulate with you. 
Why have you done that which I dare not speak. 
And in the action changed the humble shape 



8C. I. THE UNNATURAL COMBAT* 239 

Of my obedience^ to rebellious rage^ 

And insolent pride ? and with shut eyes constrained 

me 
To run my bark of honour on a shelf 
I must not see^ nor^ if I saw it^ shun it ? 
In my wrongs nature suffers and looks backward. 
And mankind trembles to see me pursue 
What beasts would fly from. For when I advance 
This sword, as I must do, against your head. 
Piety will weep, and filial duty mourn. 
To see their altars which you built up in me. 
In a moment razed and ruin'd. That you could ^ 
(From my grieved soul I wish it) but produce. 
To qualify, not excuse, your deed of horror. 
One seeming reason, that I might fix here. 
And move no further ! 

Malef. sen. Have I so far lost 
A father s power, that I must give account 
Of my actions to my son ? or must I plead 
As a fearful prisoner at the bar, while he 
That owes his being to me sits a judge 
To censure that which only by myself 
Ought to be questioned ? Mr untains sooner fall 
Beneath their valleys, and the lofty pine 
Pay homage to the bramble, or what else is 
Preposterous in nature, ere my tongue 
In one short syllable yield satisfaction 
To any doubt of thine ; nay, though it were 
A certainty disdaining argument ! 
Since, though my deeds wore helFs black livery. 
To thee they should appear triumphal robes, 

' That you could, &c] O that, &c. This omission of the 
sign of the optative interjection is common to all our old dra- 
matists. 



2 10 THE UXNATURAL COMBATt ACT II 

Set off with glorious honour, thou being bound 
To see with my eyes, and to hold that reason^ 
That takes or birth or fashion from my will. 

Malef. jun. This sword divides that slavish knot 

Malvf, sen. It cannot : 
It cannot, wretch ; and if thou but remember 
From whom thou hadst this spirit^ thou dar^st not 

hope it. 
AVho train 'd thee up in arms but I ? Who taughi 

thee 
Men were men only when they durst look down 
With scorn on death and danger, and contemn'd 
All opposition, till plumed Victory ' 
Had made her constant stand upon their helmets; 
Tnder my shield thou hast fought as securely 
As the young eaglet, cover'd with the wings 
Of her fiiTce dam, learns how and where to prey. 
All that is manly in thee, I call mine ; 
Hut what is weak and womanish, thine own. 
And what I gave, since thou art proud, ungrateful 
Presuming to contend with him to whom 
Submission is due, I will take from thee. 
Look, therefore, for extremities, and expect not 
I will correct thee as a son, but kill tbcc 

' Till plumed Victory 
Ihid made her constant stand upon their hrlmettJ] ThL 
noble image seems to have been copied by 31ilton,who, detcribiD| 
Satan, say% 

** His Ktature reach'd the sky, and on hit crest 
Sat Ilorror///jirwfrf,*" — 
Ai.d;. in anothiT place, 

'* at hi* right hand Victory 

Sat viif^lc-Tvinff d '* — . 
The whole speech of Alalefort here noticed is tnily tubUme 
and above all commendation.— Coxetee. 



SC. I. THE UNNATURAL COMBAT, 241 

As a serpent swollen with poison ; who surviving 
A little longer^ with infectious breathy 
Would render all things near him^ like itself. 
Contagious. Nay^ now my anger 's up. 
Ten thousand virgins kneeling at my feet. 
And with one general cry howling for mercy. 
Shall not redeem thee. 

Malef. jun. Thou incensed Power, 
Awhile forbear thy thunder ! let me have 
No aid in my revenge, if from the grave 
My mother— 

Malef, sen. Thou shalt never name her more. 

{Thejfjight. 

Beav FORT Junior, Montreville, Belgarde, and 
the three Sea Captains, appear on the Mount, 

Beauf. jun. They are at it. 
2 Capt, That thrust was put strongly home. 
Montr. But with more strength avoided. 
Belg. Well come in ; 
He has drawn blood of him yet. 

1 Capt. That was a strange miss. 
Beauf. jun. That a certain hit. 

\_Young Malefort is slain, 
Belg. He 's fallen ! the day is ours ! 

2 Capt. The admiral 's slain. 
Montr. The father is victorious ! 
Belg. Let us haste 

To gratulate his conquest. 

1 Capt. We to mourn 
The fortune of the son. 

Beauf, jun. With utmost speed 
Acquaint the governor with the good success, 

VOL. IT. R 



Marseilles owes the freedom of her fears^ 
Or that my loyalty^ not long since eclipsed. 
Shines now more hright than ever^ are not things 
To he lamented : though, indeed, they may 
Appear too dearly hought, my falling glories 
Being made up again, and cemented 
With a son's hlood. 'Tis true he was my son 
While he was worthy ; but when he shook off 
His duty to me, (which my fond indulgence. 
Upon submission, might perhaps have pardon'd,) 
And grew his country's enemy, I look'd on him 
As a stranger to my family, and a traitor 
Justly proscribed, and he to be rewarded 
That could bring in his head. I know in this 
That I am censured rugged and austere. 
That will vouchsafe not one sad sigh or tear 
Upon his slaughter'd body : but I rest 
Well satisfied in myself, being assured that 
Extraordinary virtues, when they soar 
Too high a pitch for common sights to judge of, 
Losing their proper splendour, are condemn'd 
For most remarkable vices ^ 

Beauf.jun. 'Tis too true, sir. 
In the opinion of the multitude ; 
But for myself, that would be held your friend. 
And hope to know you by a nearer name. 
They are, as they deserve, received. 

Malef, My daughter 
Shall thank you for the &vour. 

> RemarkableJ\ This word had in M assinger*s time a more 
dignified sound and a more appropriate meaning than it bears 
at present. With him it constantly stands for surprising, highly 
striking^ or observable in an uncommon degree : of this it will 
be well to take notice...GiFFoaD. 

r2 



I^&A W A«*aA4 V Vr ,«■«, A^.AA a, • «&V>PA ««• 



Beauf, jun. I can wish 
No happiness heyond it. 

1 CapU Shall we have leave 
To hear the corpse of oor dead admiral^ 
As he eiijoin'd us^ from this coast ? 

Male/, Provided 
The articles agreed on be observed. 
And you depart hence with it^ making oath 
Never hereafter, but as friends, to touch 
Upon this shore. 

1 CapL We '11 faithfully perform it. 

Malef. Then as you please dispose of it : 'tis 
an object 
That I could wish removed. His sins die with him I 
So far he has my charity. 

1 Capt. He shall have 
A soldier's funeral. 

[The Captains hear the body off^ with sad music. 

Malef. Farewell! 

Beauf, jun. These rites 
Paid to the dead, the conqueror that survives 
Must reap the harvest of his bloody labour. 
Sound all loud instruments of joy and triumph. 
And with nil circumstance and ceremony 
Wait on the patron of our liberty. 
Which he at all parts merits. 

Malef. I am honour'd 
Beyond my hopes. 

Beauf. jun, 'Tis short of your deserts. 
Lead on : oh, sir, you must ; you are too modest. 

^Exeunt with loud music. 



SCENE II. 
A Room in Malefobt*^ House. 

Enter Thbocbine^ P^^j ond Waiiing-women. 

Tkeoc. Talk not of comfort; I am both ways 
wretched^ 
And so distracted with my doubts and fears^ 
I know not where to fix my hopes. My loss 
Is certain in a father or a brother^ 
Or both ; such is the cruelty of my fate^ 
And not to be avoided. 

1 Worn. You must bear it 
With patience^ madam. 

2 Worn, And what 'snot in you 

To be prevented should not cause a sorrow 
Which cannot help it. 

Page. Fear not my brave lord. 
Your noble father; fighting is to him 
Familiar as eating. He can teach 
Our modem duellists how to cleave a button. 
And in a new way, never yet found out 
By old Caranza^ 

1 Worn. May he be victorious. 
And punish disobedience in his son ! 
Whose death, in reason, should at no part move you. 
He being but half your brother, and the nearness 
Which wat might challenge from you forfeited 

' Carunza,'] He wrote a systematic treatise on duelling, 
whidi seems to have been the Vade Mecum of the punctilious 
gaDsnts ftlxnit the court of James the First. 



IJy his impious purpose to kill him from whom 
lie received life. [^^ shout wUh'in. 

2 Worn, A general shoot 

1 Worn, Of joy. 

Page, Look up, dear lady : sad news never came 
TIsher'd with loud applause. 

Theoc, I stand prepared 
To endure the shock of it. 

Enter Usher. 

Vsh, I am out of hreath 
With running to deliver first 

Theoc. Whsx ? 

Ush, We are all made. 
My lord has won the day ; your brother 's slain ; 
The pirates gone ; and by the governor 
And states, and all the men of war^ he is 
Brought home in triumph : — nay^no musing; pay me 
Pot my good news hereafter. 

Theoc. Heaven is just! 

Ush, Give thanks at leisure; make all haste to 
meet him. ^ExeunL 

SCENE III. 

A Street. 

Loud music. Enter Montreville, Belgarde^ 
Beaufort senior, Beaufort junior; Male- 
tort, follofved by Montaigne, Chamont, and 
Lanour. 

Bcaiif. sen. All honours we can give you and 

rewards, 
">"?h all that 's rich or precious in MareeiUes 



JBC. ni. THE UNNATITRAL COMBAT. 247 

Were laid down at yoUr feet, can hold no weight 

With your deservings : let me glory in 

Your action as if it were ndne own ; 

And have the honour, with the arms of love> 

To emhrace the great performer of a deed 

Transcending all this country e'er could boast of. 

Mont. Imagine, noble sir, in what we may 
Express our thankfulness, and rest assui^ed 
It shall be freely granted. 

Cham, He 's an enemy 
To goodness and to virtue that dares think 
There 's any thing within our power to give 
Which you in justice may not boldly challenee. 

Lan, And as your own; for we will ever be 
At your devotion. 

Male/, Much-honour'd sir. 
And you, my noble lords, I can say only. 
The greatness of your favours overwhelms me. 
And like too large a sail, for the small bark 
Of my poor merits, sinks me. That I Btaad 
Upright in your opinions is an honour 
Exceeding my deserts, I having done 
Nothing but what in duty I stood bound to : 
And to expect a recompense were base, 
Good deeds being ever in themselves rewarded. 
Yet since your liberal bounties tell me that 
I may, with your allowance, be a suitor. 
To you, my lord, I am an humble one. 
And must ask that, which known, I fear you will 
Censure me over bold. 

Beauf, se7i. It must be something 
Of a strange nature, if it find from me 
Denial or delay. 

Malef. Thus, then, my lord. 



Since you encourage me : You are happy in 

A worthy son^ and all the comfort that 

Fortune has left me is one daughter; now^ 

If it may not appear too much presumption 

To seek to match my lowness with your height, 

I should desire (and if I may obtain it, 

I write nil ultra to my largest hopes,) 

She may in your opinion be thought worthy 

To be received into your family. 

And married to your son : their years are equal. 

And their desires, I think, too ; she is not 

Ignoble, nor my state contemptible ; 

And if you think me worthy your sdliance, 

'Tis all I do aspire to. 

Beatif.jun. You demand 
That which with all the service of my life 
I should have laboured to obtain from you. 

sir, why are you slow to meet so fair 

And noble an offer ? can France show a virgin 
That may be parallel'd with her ? is she not 
The phoenix of the time, the fairest star 
In the bright sphere of women ? 

Beauf, sen. Be not rapt so : 
Though I dislike nol what is motion'd, yet. 
In what so near concerns me, it is fit 

1 should proceed with judgment. 

Enter Usher^ Theocbine, Page, and Waiting-* 

women, 

Beauf,jun, Here she comes: 
Look on her with impartial eyes, and then 
Let envy, if it can, name one graced feature 
In which she is defective. 

Malef. Welcome, girl 1 



8C. III. THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. 249 

My joy, my comfort, my delight, my all. 
Why dost thou come to greet my victory 
In such a sable habit ? This show'd well 
When thy father was a prisoner, and suspected ; 
But now his faith and loyalty are admired. 
Rather than doubted, in your outward garments 
You are to express the joy you feel within : 
Nor should you with more curiousness and care 
Pace to the temple to be made a bride. 
Than now, when all men's eyes are fixt upon you. 
You should appear to entertain the honour 
From me descending to you, and in which 
You have an equal share. 

Theoc, Heaven has my thanks. 
With all humility paid for your fair fortune. 
And so far duty binds me ; yet a little 
To mourn a brother's loss, however wicked. 
The tenderness familiar to our sex 
May, if you please, excuse. 

Malef. Thou art deceived. 
He, living, was a blemish to thy beauties. 
But in his death gives ornament and lustre 
To thy perfections, but that they are 
So exquisitely rare, that they admit not 
The least addition. Ha ! here 's yet a print 
Of a sad tear on thy cheek ; how it takes from 
Our present happiness ! But if now 
Her brightness, dimm'd with sorrow, take and please 

you. 
Think, think, young lord, when she appears her- 
self. 
How far she will transport you. 



ras rxyATUKAi. cosibat. act ih 

BiZA-'. '11. Yccr vcxds are faot ai oQ poaz'd on 



.A r; 



Tzsr. " =■" .^5 jLTeaCT a: tlie beigla. 

.Vj.V*'. Nc more : 
II: hflkre yet:, asd let me fraoi roa 
Fini s? =:'j.4i creeit. l^lien I make her jaan, 
I ir p.~>s!ici» Tc>>u ot ;! gift wfaidi I 
W::2: nucli uawillixieceK put fircMn. My good 

F.-Triear _v:ur r^rther tztnifale ; girc me leaTe 
T.^ r^iire :o isy own bouse, and mt: to^waaaw. 
As y:i >.v.r.rr!AT:d me. I will be roar guest ; 
A::i ha%-:i:^ iev^k'd zsj daughter like hendf, 
Ycu shjLll hive tunher eonfeience. 

JBt'.inr', fCH. You are master 
Of vo'jx oTvn will : but fail not- 1 11 expect you. 

3/u.V*'. Nay. I will be excused; I must part 
w :i h y ou . [^ToYtHiMg3fi±rro mr and ike resi, 
^Iv dearest Tbeo^^nne. sire me tbT band. 
I will support tbee. Tbou art a tweet one ; j&. 
And to be cherisb'd. 

Theoc. May I still deserre it ! 

[^Exemni sererai ways. 



ACT III. THE UNNATURAL COMBAT. 251 



ACT III. SCENE I. 

> 

A Banqueting'^room in Bbaufobt'.^ House. 

Enter Bbaufort senior and Steward. 

Beauf, sen. Have you been carefal ? 

Stew, With my beat endeavours. 
Let tbem bring stomachs^ there 's no want of meat^ 

sir. 
Portly and curious viands are prepared. 
To please all kinds of appetites. 

Beauf, sen. 'Tis well. 
I love a table fumish'd with full plenty. 
And store of friends to eat it : but whii this cau- 
tion^ 
I would not have my house a common inn. 
For some men that come rather to devour me. 
Than to present their service. At this time, too. 
It being a serious and solemn meetine, 
I must not have my board pester'd with shadows S 
That^ under other men's protection, break in 
Without invitcment. 

Slew, With your favour^ then. 
You must double your guard, my lord ; for, on my 

knowledge. 
There are some so sharp set> not to be kept out 
By a file of musketeers : and 'tis less dai^ger, 

> Shadow.'] It was consideiedy Plutaidi saji, as • vdmA. of 
politeness, to let an invited guest know that lie was at liberty 
to bring a friend or two with him ; • pcnniasUm that was, 
however, sometimes abused. These friends the Romans called 
shadows, {umbrce,) a term whidi Mafiniger has rety happily 
explained. — Gifford. 



. -: -T-. . .« ^-wM- rrai ■-nnnnrs. 



. .. tv-.iS -ii-as iixuw um : 



\ "i ....-* ..1-^ c'-x: ■-' Tr ■t.r lope jr inj. 

■•i__ ■ __• . ^-^^ ..C ' '.■■Ia-S'" . 

^-:.- -*; . :.• jr.. .^11;^ Hat : J^.W I }t . 

X;. ->. :;. . ^ 1'.'. '. .:ti"^ 1 jr« I, aerr: > i^- 






»cf . a.-. ■-'» A/ .iw-Tv ;£ .aco uie laJ. > t na m» ■»«« ant -jtai il- 

iiiUriien; « i-ji -Jze -jiucLeGa>u» ouac«n» it ziu couk u^ ffokd. 

•»•-• epithtfi wiih our fbr%;tkcfaerk woo 'jswi k ta a swat 



Beauf. sen. No: — say this only, [ Whispers to him . 
And as from me ; you apprehend me ? 

Stew. Yes, sir. 

Beauf. sen. But it must be done gravely. 

Stem, Never doubt me, sir. 

Beattf. sen. We'll dine in the great room, but 
let the music 
And banquet ^ be prepared here. lExit. 

Stew, This will make him 
Lose his dinner at the least, and that will vex him. 
As for the sweetmeats, when they are trod under 

foot. 
Let him take his share with the pages and the 

lackeys. 
Or scramble in the rushes. 

Enter Belgarde. 

Belg, 'Tis near twelve ; 
I keep a watch within me never misses. — 
Save thee, master steward ! 

Stew, You are most welcome, sir. 

Belg. Has thy lord slept well to-night ? I come 
to inquire. 
I had a foolish dream, that, against my will. 
Carried me from my lodging, to learn only 
How he 's disposed. 

Stew, He 's in most perfect health, sir. 

Belg. Let me but see him feed heartily at dinner> 
And I *11 believe so too ; for from that ever 
I make a certain judgment. 

Stetv, It holds surely 
In your own constitution. 

> Banquet,] i. e. the dessert. 



'27 G THE PICTURE. ACT !• 

Forcing me to it too oft wash'd in tears. 

I grant that you^ in birth^ were far above me^ 

And great men^ my superiors^ rivaLi for you ; 

But mutual consent of hearty as hands^ 

Join'd by true love^ hath made us one^ and equal : 

Nor is it in me mere desire of fame. 

Or to be cried up by the public voice 

For a brave soldier^ that puts on my armour : 

Such airy tumours take not me. You know 

How narrow our demeans are ^ and^ what 's more. 

Having as yet no charge of children on us^ 

We hardly can subsist. 

Soph. In you alone^ sir, 
I have all abundance. 

Math, For my mind's content. 
In your own language I could answer you. 
You have been an obedient wife, a right one ; 
And to my power, though short of your desert^ 
I have been ever an indulgent husband. 
We have long enjoy'd the sweets of love, and 

though 
Not to satiety or loathing, yet 
We must not live such dotards on our pleasures. 
As still to hug them, to the certain loss 
Of profit and preferment. Competent means 
Maintains a quiet bed ; want breeds dissension. 
Even in good women. 

Soph. Ilave you found in me, sir. 
Any distaste or sign of discontent 
For want of what 's superfluous ? 

Math, No, Sophia; 
Nor shalt thou ever have cause to repent 

I Dcmraus,] here used for mcam, u demerits for meritt, &c. 

*-(iirFORD. 



8C. I. THE PICTURE. 2/7 

Thy constant course in goodness^ if Heaven bless 

My honest undertakings. 'Tis for thee 

That I turn soldier, and put forth, dearest^ 

Upon this sea of action, as a factor^ 

To trade for rich materials to adorn 

Thy noble parts, and show them in full lustre. 

I blush that other ladies^ less in beauty 

And outward form, but in the harmony 

Of the soul's ravishing music, the same age 

Not to be named with thee, should so outshine 

thee 
In jewels and variety of wardrobes ; 
While you, to whose sweet innocence both Indies 
Compared are of no value^ wanting these^ 
Pass unregarded. 

Soph. If I am so rich, or 
In your opinion, why should you borrow 
Additions for me ? 

Math. Why ! I should be censured 
Of ignorance, possessing such a jewel 
Above all price, if I forbear to give it 
The best of ornaments : therefore, Sophia^ 
In few words know my pleasure, and obey me, 
As you have ever done. To your discretion 
I leave the government of my family 
And our poor fortunes ; and from these command 
Obedience to you as to myself: 
To the utmost of what *s mine, live plentifully ; 
And, ere the remnant of our store be spent. 
With ray good sword I hope I shall reap for you 
A harvest in such full abundance as 
Shall make a merry winter. 

Soph, Since you are not 



278 THE PICTURE. ACT I. 

To be diverted^ sir^ from what you purposey 
All arguments to stay you here are vuAesB : 
Go when you please^ sir. Eyes^ I charge you waste 

not 
One drop of sorrow ; look you hoard all up 
Till in my widow'd bed I call upon you. 
But then be sure you fail not. You bl^t angels, 
Guardians of human life^ I at this instant 
Forbear t 'invoke you : at our parting, 'twere 
To personate devotion ^ My soul 
Shall go along with you, and, when you are 
Circled with death and horror, seek and find you ; 
And then I will not leave a saint unsued to 
For your protection. To tell you what 
I will do in your absence, would show poorly ; 
My actions shall speak for me : 'twere to doubt youy 
To beg I may hear from you ; where you are 
You cannot live obscure, nor shall one post. 
By night or day, pass unexamined by me. — 

[^Kisses kim. 
Farewell, my lord ; I pray thee turn from me. 
All that I can, is spoken. Q£n<. 

Math. Follow your mistress. 
Forbear your wishes for me ; let me find them^ 
At my return, in your prompt will to serve her. 

HiL For my part, sir, I will grow lean with 
study 
To make her merry. — Come, my lady stays for us. 
[^E.reuni Hilario, Corisca, and the rttU 

Math. I am strangely troubled yet why I should 
nourish 

» Personate,] L e. pretend. 



SC. I. THE PICTURE. 279 

A fury here^ and with imagined food^ 

Having no real grounds on which to raise 

A building of suspicion she was ever 

Or can he false hereafter. I in this 

But foolishly inquire the knowledge of 

A future sorrow, which, if I find out. 

My present ignorance were a cheap purchase. 

Though with my loss of being. I have already 

Dealt with a friend of mine, a general scholar. 

One deeply read ^ in nature's hidden secrets. 

And, though with much unwillingness, liave won 

him 
To do as much as art can, to resolve me 
My fate that follows — To my wish, he 's come. 

Enter Baptista. 

Julio Baptista, now I may affirm 

Your promise and performance walk together ; 

' A general scholar. 

One deeply read, ^c.] In the list of dramatis personie, too, 
he is called a great scholar. The character of Baptista is 
founded upon a notion very generally received in the dark ages, 
that men of learning were conversant in the operations of magic: 
and, indeed, a scholar and a magician are frequendy confounded 
by our old writers, or radier considered as one and the same. 
The notion is not yet obsolete among the vulgar. 

Baptista Porta has given an elaborate account, in his treatise 
de Magia natural!, of the powers once supposed to be possessed 
and exercised by magicians. I once thought that this treatise 
was not published in Massinger's time, but have since learned 
that it appeared at Antwerp in 1585, and at Frankfort in 1607* 
Probably there were other editions : at all events, both the au- 
thor and his work had long been known in this country. 

It is an ingenious conjecture of Mr. Gilchrist, that he took 
the name of his '' deep-read scholar" from Baptista Porta. — 

GlFFORD. 



And therefore, without circumstance, to the point . 
Instruct me what I am. 

Bapi. I could wish you had 
Made trial of my love some other way. 

Math. Nay, this is from the purpose. 

Bapt. If you can 
Proportion your desire to any mean, 
I do pronounce you happy ; I have found. 
By certain rules of art, your matchless wife 
Is to this present hour from all pollution 
Free and untainted. 

Math. Good. 

Bapt, In reason, therefore. 
You should fix here, and make no further search 
Of what may fall hereafter. 

Math. O, Baptista, 
'Tis not in me to master so my passions ; 
I must know further, or you have made good 
But half your promise. While my love stood by. 
Holding her upright, and my presence was 
A watch upon her, her affection met too 
With equal ardour from me, what one proof 
Could she give of her constancy, being untempted? 
But when I am absent, and my coming back 
Uncertain, she the absolute disposer 
Of herself without control ; nay, more, invited 
By opportunity, and all strong temptations. 
If then she hold out — 

Bapt. As, no doubt, she will. 

Math. Those doubts must be made certainties, 
Baptista, 
By your assurance ; or your, boasted art 
Deserves no admiration. How you trifle. 



8C. I. THE PICTURE. 281 

And play with my affliction ! I am on 
The rack^ till you confirm me. 

Bapt, Sure^ Mathias^ 
I am no god, nor cait I dive into 
Her hidden thoughts^ or know what her intents are ; 
That is denied to art, and kept concealed 
E *en from the devils themselves : they can but 

guess, 
Out of long observation, what is likely; 
But positively to foretel that shall be. 
You may conclude impossible. All I can^ 
I will do for you ; when you are distant from her 
A thousand leagues, as if you then were with her^ 
You shall know truly when she is solicited^ 
And how far wrought on. 

Math, I desire no more. 

Bapt. Take then this little model of Sophia^ 
With more than human skill limn'd to the life ; 

^Gives him a picture. 
Each line and lineament of it, in the drawing. 
So punctually observed, that, had it motion^ 
In 80 much 'twere herself. 

Math. It is, indeed. 
An admirable piece ! but if it have not 
Some hidden virtue that I cannot guess at. 
In what can it advantage me ? 

Bapt. I '11 instruct you : 
Carry it still about you, and as oft 
As you desire to know how she 's affected. 
With curious eyes peruse it : while it keeps 
The figure it now has, entire and perfect. 
She is not only innocent in fact, 
But unattempted ; but if once it vary 
From the true form, and what *s now white and red 



282 THE PICTURE. ACT I. 

Incline to yellow^ rest most confident 

She 's with all violence courted^ but unccmqueK^d ; 

But if it turn all blacky 'tis an assurance 

Her faith, by composition or surprise. 

Is forced, or with her free consent surrendei^d. 

Math. How much you have engaged me for tUi 
favour. 
The service of my whole life shall make good. 

Bapt, We wiU not part so, I '11 along with joa, 
And it is needful : with the rising sun. 
The armies meet ; yet, ere the fight b^n. 
In spite of opposition, I will place you 
In the head of the Hungarian general's troop. 
And near his person. 

Math, As my better angel. 
You shall direct and guide me. 

Bapt, As we ride - 
I 'U tell you more. 

Math, In all things I 'U obey you. ^ExtmnL 



SCENE II. 

Hungary, Alba RegalisK A Staie'-room in ike 

Palace, 

Enter Ubaldo and Ricasdo. 

Ric, When came the post ? 
Ubald. The last night. 
Ric. From the camp ? 

< Alba liegalh.'l This was the name of the town where the 
Hings of Ilunsary were anciently crowned. It is now dwii^led 
to a paltry viUage called Stalweissenbuigh. 



SC. II. THE PICTURE. 283 

Ubald. Yes^ as 'tis said^ and the letter writ and 
sign'd 
By the general^ Ferdinand. 

Ric, Nay, then, sans question. 
It is of moment. 

Ubald, It concerns the lives 
Of two great armies. 

Ric, Was it cheerfully 
Received by the king ? 

Ubald, Yes ; for being assured 
The armies were in view of one another. 
Having proclaim'd a public fast and prayer 
For the good success, he despatch'd a gentleman 
Of his privy chamber to the general. 
With absolute authority from him. 
To try the fortune of a day. 

Ric. No doubt then 
The general will come on, and fight it bravely. 
Heaven prosper him ! This military art, 
I grant to be the noblest of professions ; 
And yet, I thank my stars for 't, I was never 
Inclined to learn it ; since this bubble honour 
(Which is, indeed, the nothing soldiers fight for,) 
With the loss of limbs or life, is, in my judgment^ 
Too dear a purchase. 

Ubald. Give me our court warfare : 
The danger is not great in the pursuit 
Of a fair mistress. 

Ric. Being, as I am, 
A likely man, my good parts are my curses : 
There 's no beauty, but yields ere it be summon'd. 
Half my estate, as I live, I would part with 



28 4 THE PICTURE. ACT I. 

To tind that only phoenix in my search^ 
That could hold out against me. 

Ubald. Be not rapt so ; 
You may spare that labour. As she is a woman^ 
What think you of the queen ? 

Ric. She *s still excepted : 
Yet, were she not my king's, being the abstract 
Of all that 's rare in woman — but we talk of 
Impossibilities : as she hath a beauty 
Would make old Nestor young ; such majesty 
Draws forth a sword of terror to defend it. 
As would fright Paris, though the queen of love 
Vow'd her best furtherance to him. 

Ubald. Have you observed 
The gravity of her language, mix'd with sweetness? 

Ric. Then, at what distance she reserves herself, 
When the king himself makes his approaches to 
her — 

Ubald. As she were still a virgin, and his life 
But one continued wooing. 

Ric. All his thoughts 
Are buried in her ; the loud noise of war 
Cannot awake him. 

Ubald. At this very instant. 
When both his life and crown are at the stake. 
He only studies her content, and when 
She *s pleased to show herself, music and masks 
Are with all care and cost provided for her. 

Ric. This night she promised to appear. 

Ubald. You mav 

^ 

Believe it by the diligence of the king. 
As if he were her harbinger. 



8C. II. THE PICTUSS. 285 

Enter Jjadiblavb, Eubulus^ and Attendant* 

wUh perfumes, 

LadU: These rooms 
Are not perfumed as we directed. 

Eubu. Not, sir ! 
I know not what you would have ; I am sure the 

smoke 
Cost treble the price of the whole week's provision 
Spent in your majesty's kitchens. 

Ladis. How I soom 
Thy gross comparison ! When my Honorioy 
The amazement of the present time^ and envy 
Of all succeeding ages^ does descend 
To sanctify a place^ and in her presence 
Makes it a temple to me, can I be 
Too curious, much less prodigal^ to receive her ? 
But that the splendour of her beams of beauty 
Hath struck thee blind — 

Eubu. As dotage hath done you. 

Ladis. Dotage ? O blasphemy ! is it in me 
To serve her to her merit ? Is she not 
The daughter of a king? 

Eubu, And you the son 
3f ours, I take it ; by what privilege else. 
Do you reign over us ? for my part, I know not 
i-Vhere the disparity lies, 

Ladis. Her birth, old man, 
Did in the kingdom's service, which protects thee, 
[s the least grace in her : and though her beauties 
Vlight make the Thunderer a rival for her. 
They are but superficial ornaments, 
\nd faintly speak her : from her heavenly mind, \ 



286 THE PICTURE. ACT L 

Were all antiquity and fiction lost. 

Our modem poets could not^ in their fimcj. 

But fashion a Minerva far txansoendinff 

The imagined one whom Homer onlj dresmt o£ 

But then add this^ she's mine^ mine, Eub&lut^ ! 

And though she knows one glance from her fair ejes 

Must make all gazers her idolaters. 

She is so sparing of their influence 

That^ to shun superstition in others. 

She shoots her powerful heams only at me. 

And can I^ then^ whom she desires to hold 

Her kingly captive ahove all the world. 

Whose nations and empires, if she pleased. 

She might command as slaves, hut gladly pay 

The humhle tribute of my love and service, 

Nay^ if I said of adoration, to her, 

I did not err ? 

Euhu. Well, since you hug your fetters. 
In Love's name wear them ! You are a king, and 

that 
Concludes you wise : your will a powerful reason. 
Which we, that are foolish subjects, must not argue. 
And what in a mean man I should call folly. 
Is in your majesty remarkable wisdom : 
But for me, I subscribe. 

Ladis. Do^ and look up. 
Upon this wonder. 

1 But then add thit^ the '# mine^ mine^ EuUUMtn Our old 
writers were very lax in their use of foreign names. AlsNiiiger 
was a scholar, yet he pronounces Eubulus much as Shaknean 
would have done it — Gikkokd. Which proTCi diat Aiak* 
Kpcare*s trips in quantity afford no proof of his bdng ignonuit 
of Greek and I/atin. 



8C. II. THE PICTURE. 287 

/ 

Loud music. Enter Honoria in state, under a 
cafiopy ; her train borne up by Sylvia and 

ACANTHE. — 

Ric, Wonder ! It is more, sir. 

Ubald, A rapture^ an astonishment. 

Ric. What think you, sir? 

Eubu. As the king thinks; that is the surest 
guard 
We courtiers ever lie at*. — Was prince ever 
So drown'd in dotage ? Without spectacles 
I can see a handsome woman, and she is so : 
But yet to admiration look not on her. 
Heaven, how he fawns ! and, as it were his duty. 
With what assured gravity she receives it ! 
Her hand again ! O she at length vouchsafes 
Her lip, and as he had suck'd nectar from it. 
How he 's exalted ! Women in their natures 
Affect command ; but this humility 
In a husband and a king, marks her the way 
To absolute tyranny. [^The king seats her on his 

throned] So ! Juno 's placed 
In Jove's tribunal : and, like Mercury, 
(Forgetting his own greatness,) he attends 
For her employments. She prepares to speak ; 
What oracles shall we hear now ? [^Aside. 

Hon. That you please, sir. 
With such assurances of love and favour. 



■the surest guard 



We courtiers ever lie at,] i. e. the surest posture of defence, 
*' Thou knowest," says Falstaff, '' my old ward ; thus I lay.^^ j 
Guard and ward are the same word.^OiFFoaD. 



288 THE PICTURE. ACT 1. 

To grace your handmaid, but in being youn, air^ 
A matchless queen, and one that knows herself so,' 
Binds me in retribution to deserve 
The grace conferr'd upon me. 

Ladis, You transcend 
In all things excellent ; and it is my glory* 
Your worth weigh *d truly, to depose myself 
From absolute command, surrendering up 
My will and faculties to your disposure : 
And here I vow, not for a day or year* 
But my whole life, which I wish long to serve you* 
That whatsoever I, in justice, may 
Exact from these my subjects, you from me 
May boldly challenge : and when you require it* 
In sign of my subjection, as your vassal* 
Thus I will pay my homage. 

Hon, O forbear, sir ! 

Ladis. Gracious sovereign I 
Boundless in bounty ! 

Eubu, Is not here fine fooling ! 
He 's questionless bewitch'd. Although I forfeit 
]VIy life for 't, I must speak. — By your good leave* 
sir — [Passing before the king, 

I have no suit to you, nor can you grant one* 
Having no power : you are like me* a subject* 
Her more than serene majesty being present. 
And I must tell you, 'tis ill manners in you* 
Having deposed yourself, to keep your hat on* 
And not stand bare, as we do, being no king. 
But a fellow-subject with us. Gentlemen-ushers* 
It docs belong to your place, see it reform'd ; 
He has given away his crown* and cannot chaUenge 
The privilege of his bonnet. 



8C. II. THE PICTURE. 289 

Ladis, Do not tempt me. 

Euhu, Tempt you ! in what ? in following your 
example ? 
If you are angry, question me hereafter, 
As Ladislaus should do Eubulus, 
On equal terms. You were of late my sovereign ; 
But weary of it, I now bend my knee 
To her divinity, and desire a boon 
From her more than magnificence. 

Hon, Take it freely. 
Nay, be not moved; for our mirth's sake let us 
hear him. 

Eul)u. 'Tis but to ask a question: Have you 
ne'er read 
The story of Semiramis and Ninus ? 

Hoji. Not as I remember. 

Euhu. I will then instruct you. 
And 'tis to the purpose : This Ninus was a king. 
And such an impotent loving king as this was. 
But now he 's none ; this Ninus (pray you observe 

me) 
Doted on this Semiramis, a smith's wife ; 
(I must confess, there the comparison holds not — 
You are a king's daughter, yet, under your cor- 
rection. 
Like her, a woman ;) this Assyrian monarch. 
Of whom this is a pattern, to express 
His love and service, seated her, as you are. 
In his regal throne, and bound by oath his nobles. 
Forgetting all allegiance to himself. 
One day to be her subjects, and to put 
In execution whatever she 

Plensed to impose upon them : — pray you command 
him 

VOL. II. u 



290 THE picture;. act I. 

To minister the like to us, and tben 
You shall hear what foUow'd. . 

Ladis. Well, sir, to your story. 

Euhu. You have no warrant, stand by; let me 
know 
Your pleasure, goddess. 

Hon, Let this nod assure you. 

Euhu. Goddess-like, indeed ! as I live^ a pretty 
idol ! 
She knowing her power, wisely made use of it ; 
And fearing his inconstancy, and repentance 
Of what he had granted, (as, in reason, madam. 
You may do his,) that he might never have 
Power to recall his grant, or question her 
For her short government, instantly gave order 
To have his head struck off. 

Ladis. Is 't possible ? 

Eubu, The story says so, and commends her 
wisdom 
For making use of her authority. 
And it is worth your imitation, madam : 
He loves subjection, and you are no queen 
Unless you make him feel the weight of it. 
You are more than uU the world to him ; and that 
He may be so to you, and not seek change 
When his delights are sated, mew him up 
In some does prison, if you let him Iive> 
Which is no policy. 

Vhald, Devilish counsel ! 

7?/c. The king's amazed. 

Vhald. The queen apf>ears, too, full 
Of deep ima<:inations ; Eubulus 
Hc'.th put holh to it. 



8C. II. THE PICTURE. 291 

Ric, Now she seems resolv^ : 
long to know the issue. ^ 

^HoNOBiA descend^Jram the throne, 

Hon. Give me \eave, ^^ 
Dear sir, to reprehend you for appearing 
Perplex'd with what this old man, out of envy 
Of your unequal graces shower'd upon me. 
Hath, in his fabulous story, saucily 
Applied to me. Sir, that you only nourish 
One doubt Honoria dares abuse the power 
With which she is invested by your favour ; 
Or that she ever can make use of it 
To the injury of you, the great bestower. 
Takes from your judgment. It was your delight 
To seek to^ me with more obsequiousness 
Than I desired : and stood it with my duty 
Not to receive what you were pleased to crfFer ? 
I do but act the part you put upon me ; 
And though you make me personate a queen. 
And you my subject, when the play, your pleasure. 
Is at a period, I am what I was 
Before I enter'd, still your humble wife. 
And you my royal sovereign. 

Ric, Admirable! 

Ho7i. Shall I, sir, blame your fondness? or cafi 
it swell me 
Beyond my just proportion ? 

Ubald. Above wonder ! 

Ladis. Heaven make me thankful for such good* 
ness ! 

Hon. Now, sir, .. ? 

> To seek tOy\ i. e. to supplicate^ to entreaty to have recoitrse to- 

u2 



The state I topk to satisfy your pleasure, 
I change to 1!his humility ; and the oath 
You made to me ^£homage, I thus cancel^ 
And seat you in your^5wn. ^ 

[^Leads (he king to the throne, 

Ladis. I am transported 
Beyond myself. 

Hon, And now to yoar wise lordship: 
Am I proved a Semiramis ? or hath 
My Ninus, as maliciously you made him. 
Cause to repent the excess of favour to me. 
Which you call dotage ? 

Ladis. Answer, wretch ! 

Eubu. I dare, sir. 
And say, however the event may plead 
In your defence, you had a guilty cause ; 
Nor was it wisdom in you, I repeat it. 
To teach a lady humble in herself. 
With the ridiculous dotage of a lover. 
To be ambitious. 

Hon, Eubulus, I am so ; 
'Tis rooted in me ; you mistake my temper. 
I do profess myself to be the most 
Ambitious of my sex, but not to hold 
Command over my lord ; such a proud torrent 
Would sink me in my wishes : not that I 
Am ignorant how much I can deserve. 
And may with justice challenge. 

Eubu. This I look'd for ; 
After this seeming humble ebb, I knew 
A gushing tide would follow. [Aside, 

Hon, By my birth. 
And liberal gifts of nature as of fortune. 



SC. II. THE PICTURE. 293 

From you, as things beneath me, I expect 
What 's due to majesty, in which I am 
A sharer with your sovereign. 

Eubu. Good again ! 

Hon, And as I am most eminent in place. 
In all my actions I would appear so. 

Ladis, You need not fear a rival. 

Hon. I hope not ; 
And till I find one, I disdain to know 
What enw is. 

m 

Ladis. You are above it, madam. 

Hon. For beauty without art, discourse, and free 
From affectation, with what graces else 
Can in the wife and daughter of a king 
Be wish'd, I dare prefer myself, as 

Eubu. I 
Blush for you, lady. Trumpet your own praises ! 
This spoken by the people had been heard 
With honour to you. Does the court afford 
No oil-tongued parasite, that you are forced 
To be your own gross flatterer ? 

Ladis, Be dumb. 
Thou spirit of contradiction ! 

Hon. The wolf 
But barks against the moon, and I contemn it. 
The mask you promised. [_A horn sounded within, 

Ladis. Let them enter. 

Enter a Courier, 

How! 
Eubu. Here 's one, I fear, unlook'd for. 
Ladis. From the camp ? 
Cour. The general, victorious in your fortune. 
Kisses your hand in this, sir. [^Delivers a letter^ 



294 THE PICTURE. ACT II. 

Ladis. That great Power, 
Who at his pleasure does dispose of battles^ 
Be ever praised for 't ! Read, sweet, and partake it : 
The Turk is vanquish'd, and with little loss 
Upon our part, in which our joy is doubled. 

Euhu. But let it not exalt you ; bear it, sir. 
With moderation, and pay what you owe fcir't. 

Ladis, I understand thee, Eubulus. I '11 not now 
Inquire particulars. — \_Exit Coi/ner.] — Our de- 
lights deferr'd. 
With reverence to the temples ; there we '11 tender 
Our souls* devotions to his dread might. 
Who edged our swords, and taught us how to fight. 

\_Exeunt. 



ACT II. SCENE 1. 

Alba liegalis. An anie-room in the Palace. 

Enter Eubulus, Ubaldo, Ricardo, and others, 

Eubii, Are the gentlemen sent before^ as it was 
order'd 
By the king's direction, to entertain 
The general ? 

Ric, Long since ; they by this have met him. 
And given him the bienvenu. 

Eubu, I hope I need not 
Instruct you in your parts. 

Ubald. How ! us, my lord ? 
Fear not ; we know our distances and decrees 
To the very inch where we are to salute him. 



SC. r. TUE PICTURE. 295 

Hie. The state were miserable if the court had 
none 
Of her own breed, familiar with all garbs 
Gracious in England, Italy, Spain, or France, 
With form and punctuality to receive 
Stranger ambassadors : for the general. 
He 's a mere native, and it matters not 
Which way we do accost him. 

Ubald. *Tis great pity 
That such as sit at the helm provide no better 
For the training up of the gentry. In my judgment. 
An academy erected, with large pensions 
To such as in a table could set down 
The congees, cringes, postures, methods, phrase. 
Proper to every nation 

liic, O, it were 
An admirable piece of work ! 

Ubald, And yet rich fools 
Throw away their charity on hospitals 
For beggars and lame soldiers, and ne'er study 
The due regard to compliment and courtship*. 
Matters of more import ; and are indeed 
The glories of a monarchy ! 

Eubu. These, no doubt. 
Are state points, gallants, I confess ; but, sure. 
Our court needs no aids this way, since it is 
A school of nothing else. There are some of you. 
Whom I forbear to name, whose coining heads 
Are the mints of all new fashions, that have done 
IVIore hurt to the kingdom by superfluous bravery*, 

• Courtship^'] i. e. courtly manners, 
^ Bravery j\ L e. Jinery^ cosily apparel. 



\\'hich the foolish gentry imitate, than a war. 
Or a long famine : all the treasure, by 
This foul excess, is got into the merchant. 
Embroiderer, silkman, jeweller, tailor's hand. 
And the third part of the land too, the nobility 
Engrossing titles only. 

Ric, My lord, you are bitter. \^A trumpet. 

Enter a Servant, 

Serv. The general is alighted, and now enter'd. 
Ric. Were he ten generals, I am prepared. 
And know what I will do. 

Eubu. Pray you what, Ricardo? 
Ric. I '11 fight at compliment with him. 
Ubald, I '11 charge home too. 
Eubu, And that's a desperate service, if you 
come off well. 

Enter Ferdinand, Mathias, Baptista, and 

Captains. 

Ferd. Captadn, command the officers to keep 
The soldier, as he march'd, in rank and file. 
Till they hear further from me. [^Exeunt Captains. 

Eubu. Here 's one speaks 
In another key ; this is no canting language 
Taught in your academy. 

Ferd. Nay, I will present you 
To the king himself. 

Math. A grace beyond my merit. 

Ferd. You undervalue what I cannot set 
Too high a price on. 

Eubu, With a friend's true heart 
r gratulate your return. 



SC. I. THE PICTURE. 297 

Ferd. Next to the favour 
Of the great king, I am happy in your friendship. 

Uhald. By courtship^ coarse on both sides ! 

Ferd, Pray you receive . 

This stranger to your knowledge ; on my credit^ 
At all parts he deserves it. 

Eubti. Your report 
Is a strong assurance to me. — Sir, most welcome. 

Math. This said by you, the reverence of your 
age 
Commands me to believe it. 

Ric. This was pretty ; 

But second me now. 1 cannot stoop too low 

To do your excellence that due observance 
Your fortune claims. 

Eubu. He ne'er thinks on his virtue ! 

Ric. For being, as you are, the soul of soldiers, 
And bulwark of Bellona 

Ubald, The protection 
Both of the court and king 

Ric. And the sole minion 
Of mighty Mars 

Uhald. One that with justice may 
Increase the number of the worthies— 

Enhti. Heyday! 

Ric. It being impossible in my arms to circle 
Such giant worth 

Ubald. At distance we presume 
To kiss your honoured gauntlet. 

Eubu. What reply now 
Can he make to this foppery ? 

Ferd. You have said. 
Gallants, so much, and hitherto done so little. 



298 THE PICTURE. ACT II 

That, till I learn to speak, and you to do, 
I must take time to thank you, 

Etcbu. As I live, 
AnswerM as I could wish. How the fops gape now ! 

Ric. This was harsh and scurvy. 

Ubald. We will be revenged 
When he comes to court the ladies^ and laugh at 
him. 

Eubu. Nay, do your offices, gentlemen^ and con- 
duct 
The general to the presence 

lUc. Keep your order. 

Ubald. jMake way for the general. 

\_Exeunt all but Eubulus. 

Eiibu. What wise man 
That, with judicious eyes, looks on a soldier 
But must confess that fortune's swing is more 
O'er that profession than all kinds else 
Of life pursued by man } They, in a state^ 
Are but as surgeons to wounded men. 
E'en desperate in their hopes : while pain and an- 
guish 
iNIake them blaspheme, and call in vain for death, 
Their wives and children kiss the surgeon's knees. 
Promise him mountains, if his saving hand 
Restore the tortured wretch to former strength : 
But when grim death, by iEsculapius* art, 
Is frighted from the house, and health appears 
In sanguine colours on the sick man's face. 
All is forgot ; and, asking his reward, 
He 's paid with curses, often receives wounds 
From him whose wounds he cured. So soldiers, 
Though of more worth and use, meet the same fate. 



8C. I. THE PICTURE. 299 

As it is too apparent. I have observed. 

When horrid Mars, the touch of whose rough hand 

With palsies shakes a kingdom, hath put on 

His dreadful helmet, and with terror fills 

The place where he, like an unwelcome guest^ 

Resolves to revel, how the lords of her, like 

The tradesman, merchant, and litigious pleader. 

And such like scarabs bred in the dung of peace. 

In hope of their protection, humbly offer 

Their daughters for their brides, heirs to their 

service. 
And wash with tears their sweat, their dust, their 

scars : 
But when those clouds of war that menaced 
A bloody deluge to the affrighted state 
Are, by their breath, dispersed and overblown. 
And famine, blood, and death, Bellona's pages, 
Whipt from the quiet continent to Thrace*; 
Soldiers, that, like the foolish hedge-sparrow. 
To their own ruin, hatch this cuckoo, peace, 
Are straight thought burthensome ; since want of 

means. 
Growing from want of action, breeds contempt ; 

^ Whipt from the quiet continent to Thraee,] The ancieDts 
comprehended under the name of Thrace much of the north- 
eastern part of Europe, the fierce inhabitants of which were 
supposed to worship M&th and Bellona; who, in return, made 
the country the peculiar place of their residence. Thence they 
arc frequently described with great magnificence by the poetQ. 
as setting forth to kindle war, ''• with their pages, faminjp 
blood, and death ;** and thither, when peace was restored, they 
were supposed to retire again. The same id&^ and nearly in 
the same words, occurs in the Roman Actor. In Thrace, too, 
was the temple of Mars.— Gifford. 



300 THE PICTURE. ACT II. 

And that, the worst of ills, falls to their lot. 
Their service, with the danger, soon forgot. 

Enter a Servant, 

Serv, The queen, my lord, hath made choice of 
this room 
To see the masque. 

Euhu. I '11 be a looker on : 
My dancing days are past. 

Loud music. Enter Ubaldo, Ricardo, Ladislaus, 
Ferdinand, Honoria, Mathias, Sylvia, Acax- 
THE, Baptista, Captains y and others. As ikej/ 
pass, a Sofig in praise of war, 

Ladis. This courtesy 
To a stranger, my Honoria, keeps fair rank 
With all your rarities After your travail. 
Look on our court delights; but first, from your 
Relation, with erected ears I '11 hear 
The music of your war, which must be sweety 
Ending in victory. 

Ferd. Not to trouble 
Your majesties with description of a battle 
Too full of horror for the place, and to 
Avoid particulars, which should I deliver, 
I must trench longer on your patience than 
My manners will give way to ; — in a word, sir. 
It was well fought on both sides, and almost 
With equal fortune, it continuing doubtful 
Upon whose tents plumed Victory would take 
Her glorious stand. Impatient of delay, 
'Vith the flower of our prime gentlemen, I charged 



8C. I. THE PICTURE. 301 

Their main battalia^ and with their assistance 

Brake in ; but^ when I was almost assured 

That they were routed, by a stratagem 

Of the subtile Turk, who open'd his gross body, 

And rallied up his troops on either side, 

I found myself so far engaged, for I 

Must not conceal my errors, that I knew not 

Which way with honour to come off. 

Eubu, I like 
A general that tells his faults, and is not 
Ambitious to engross unto himself 
All honour, as some have, in which, with justice^ 
They could not claim a share. 

Ferd, Being thus hemm'd in. 
Their scimitars raged among us ; and, my horse 
Kill'd under me, I every minute look'd for 
An honourable end, and that was all 
IVIy hope could fashion to me : circled thus 
'With death and horror, as one sent from heaven. 
This man of men, with some choice horse, that 

foUow'd 
His brave example, did pursue the track 
His sword cut for them, and, but that I see him 
Already blush to hear what he, being present, 
I know would wish unspoken, I should say, sir. 
By what he did, we boldly may believe 
All that is writ of Hector. 

Math. General, 
Pray spare these strange hyperboles. 

Eubu. Do not blush 
To hear a truth ; here are a pair of monsieurs. 
Had they been in your place, would have run away. 
And ne'er changed countenance. 



302 THE PICTUBK. AOt !!• 

Ubald. We have your good word stilL * 

Eubu. And shall^ while you deserve it. 

Ladis, Silence 5 on. 

Ferd. He, as I said^ like dreadful lightning 
thrown 
From Jupiter's shield^ dispersed the armed gyre^ 
With which I was environed ; horse and man 
Shrunk under his strong arm : more^ with hii lookf 
Frighted^ the valiant fled^ with which encouraged, 
My soldiers^ (like young eaglets preying under 
The wings of their fierce dam)^ as if fhnn him 
They took hoth spirit and fire^ bravely came on. 
By him I was remounted, and inspired 
With treble courage ; and such as fled before 
Boldly made head again ; and, to confirm them. 
It suddenly was apparent, that the fortune 
Of the day was ours ; each soldier and commander 
Perform'd his part ; but this was the great whed 
By which the lesser moved^; and all rewards 
And signs of honour, as the civic garland^ 
The mural wreath, the enemy's prime horse, 

* Gyre,'] i. e. a circle described hy any thing In motUnu 

* Tliit was the great nheel, &&] Masdnnr hmt wed tUi 
ligure more than once before. It is kurpruing now Kldom Umm 
repetitions occur in SbakMpsar«^ Wlien we cnniider how much 
he wrote, the exuberance of his resources will appear truly 
wonderfuL 

Massinger seems to be indebted to Danlel*a FhilotM tn the 
original idea: — 

^' For this great motion of a state we see, 

Doth tume on many wheels ; and some, though smattf 
Do yet the greater movc^ who in degree 
8tirre tliose who likewise tume the great*it of alL** 

OlFFOBD- 



tie. I. THE PICTURE* 303 

With the general's sward and armour, (the old 

honours 
With which the Romans crown'd their several 

leaders,) 
To him alone are proper. 

Ladis. And they shall 
Deservedly fall on him. Sit ; 'tis our pleasure. 

Ferd» Which I must serve, not argue. 

Hon, You are a stranger. 
But, in your service for the king, a native. 
And, though a free queen, I am hound in duty 
To cherish virtue wheresoe'er I find it : 
This place is yours. 

Math. It were presumption in me 
To sit so near you. 

Hon. Not having our warrant. £Music within. 

Ladis. Let the maskers enter: hy the prepara- 
tion, 
'Tis a French brawl, an apish imitation 
Of what you really perform in battle: 
And Pallas, bound up in a little volume*, 
Apollo, with his lute, attending on her. 
Serve for the induction. 

Enter Maskers, S^c: Pallas, accompanied hy 
Apollo on the lute. 

Though we contemplate to express^ 
The glory of your happiness^ 

' A little volinnejl i. e. played hy a short performer, 
'^ Though u't\ &c. ] This song u evidenUy incomplete. From 
the stage direction, " a song in praise of the victorious soldier,*' 
it would seen) as if the care of these things had been left to the 
prompter. Just above we have '*a song in praise of war;*' 
and, in the following act, another '' on pleasure.*' — Gifford* 



304 THE PICTURE. AOT II. 

That, by your powerful arm, have been 

So true a victor^ that no tin 
Could ever taint you with a blame 

To lessen your deserved fame. 

Or, though we contend to set 

Your worth in the full height, or gel 

Celestial singers crown'd with bays. 
With flourishes to dress your praise: 

Y^ou know your conquest; but your story 
Lives in your triumphant glory, 

[^A dance. 

Ladis. Our thanks to all. 
To the banquet that 's prepared to entertain them : 
— [^Exeunt Maskers, ApoLf^o^ and Pallas. 
What would my best Honoria ? 

Hon, May it please 
My king^ that I, who^ by his suffrage^ ever 
Have had power to command^ may now entreat 
An honour from him. 

Ladis. Why should you desire 
What is your own ? whatever it be, you arc 
The mistress of it. 

Hon. I am happy in 
Your grant : my suit^ sir, is, that your commanden. 
Especially this stranger^ may, as I, 
In my discretion, shall think good, receive 
What 's due to their deserts. 

Ijadis. W^hat you determine 
Shall know no alteration. 

Kubu, The soldier 
Is like to have good usage, when he depends 
V.^pon her pleasure ! Are all the men so bad. 



SC. I. THE PICTURE. 305 

That^ to give satisfaction^ we must have 
A woman treasurer ? Heaven help all ! 

Hon. With you, sir, [JTo Mathias. 

I will begin, and, as in my esteem 
You are most eminent, expect to have 
What 's fit for me to give, and you to take. 
The favour in the quick despatch being double. 
Go fetch my casket, and with speed. 

\JExit Acanthe. 

Euhu. The kingdom 
Is very bare of money, when rewards 
Issue from the queen's jewel-house. Give him gold 
And stored no question the gentleman wants it. 
Good madam, what shall he do with a hoop ring, 
And a spark of diamond in it ? though you take it, 

Re-enler Acanthe with a Casket, 

For the greater honour, from your majesty's finger, 
'Twill not increase the value. He must purchase 
Rich suits, the gay comparison ^ of courtship. 
Revel and feast, which, the war ended, is 
A soldier's glory ; and 'tis fit that way 
Your bounty should provide for him. 

Ho?i. You are rude. 
And by your narrow thoughts proportion mine. 
What I will do now shall be worth the envy 
Of Cleopatra. Open it ; see here 

QHoNORiA descends from the state. 

* Give him gold 

And store.] This expression, which is taken from an old 
ballad, frequently occurs in these plays.— Gifford. 

* Cornparisorit] i. e. caparison ; the word is frequently written 
thus in our old dramatists. Courtship, which occurs in the 
same line, means the cost and magnificence of a court. 

VOL. II. X 



306 THE PICTURE. ACT II* 

The lapidary's idol ! Gold is trashy 
And a poor salary fit for grooms ; wear these. 
As studded stars in your armour^ and make the ran 
Look dim with jealousy of a greater light 
Than his beams gild the day with : when it is 
Exposed to view, call it Honoria's gift^ 
The Queen Honoria's ffft, that loves a sohlier; 
And^ to give ornament and lustre to him. 
Parts freely with her own ! Yet, not to take 
From the magnificence of the king, I will 
Dispense his bounty too, but as a page 
To wait on mine ; for other tosses', take 
A hundred thousand crowns: — jour hand, dear 
sir — [^Takes off ihe kift^s signet. 

And this shall be thy warrant. 

Eubu, I perceive 
I was cheated in this woman : now she is 
In the giving vein to soldiers, let her be proud. 
And the king dote, so she go on, I care not. 

Hon. This done, our pleasure is, that all arrear- 
ages 
Be paid unto the captains, and their troops ; 
With a large donative, to increase their xeal '• 

For the service of the kingdom. 

Eubu. Better still : 
Let men of arms be used thus, if they do not 
Charge desperately U|)on the cannon's mouth. 
Though the devil roar'd, and fight like dragons, 

hang me ! 
Now they may drink sock ; but small beer, with a 
passport 

1 For ( thcr io$$et.'\ Meaning, pntiapf, in the slight manner 
in which she notices this part of her bounty, yvr irath tojiivft 

itviiy (rIFFORD. 



SC. I. THE PICTURE. 307 

To beg with as they travel, and no money. 
Turns their red blood to buttermilk. 

Hon. Are you pleased, sir. 
With what I have done ? 

Ladis, Yes, and thus confirm it. 
With this addition of mine own : You have, sir. 
From our loved queen received some recompense 
For your life hazarded in the late action ; 
And, that we may follow her great example 
In cherishing valour, without limit ask 
What you from us can wish. 

Math. If it be true, 
Dread sir, as 'tis affirm'd, that every soil. 
Where he is well, is to a valiant man 
His natural country, reason may assure me 
I should fix here, where blessings beyond hope. 
From you, the spring, like rivers, flow unto me. 
If wealth were my ambition, by the queen 
I am made rich already, to the amazement 
Of all that see, or shall hereafter read 
1 he story of her bounty ; if to spend 
The remnant of my life in deeds of arms. 
No region is more fertile of good knights. 
From whom my knowledge thUt way may be bet- 
tered. 
Than this your warlike Hungary ; if favour. 
Or grace in court could take me, by your grant. 
Far, far, beyond my merit, I may make 
In yours a free election ; but, alas ! sir, 
I'm not mine own, but by my destiny 
(Which I cannot resist) forced to prefer 
Aly country's smoke, before the glorious fire 
With which your bounties warm me. All I ask, sir, 

x2 



308 THE PICTURE. ACT II. 

Though I cannot be ignorant it must relisli 
Of foul ingratitude^ is your gracious licence 
For my departure. 

Ladis. Whither? 

Math. To my own home, sir, 
IMy own poor home ; which will, at my return^ 
Grow rich by your magnificence. I am here 
But a body w^ithout a soul ; and, till I find it 
In the embraces of my constant wife. 
And, to set off that constancy, in her beauty 
And matchless excellencies without a rival, 
I am but half myself. 

Hon. And is she then 
So chaste and fair as you infer ? 

Math. O, madam. 
Though it must argue weakness in a rich man. 
To show his gold before an armed thief. 
And I, in praising of my wife, but feed 
The fire of love in others to attempt her ; 
Such is my fuU-sail'd confidence in her virtue. 
Though in my absence she were now besieged 
By a strong army of lascivious wooers, 
And every one more expert in his art. 
Than those that tempted chaste Penelope ; 
Though they raised batteries by prodigal gifts. 
By amorous letters, vows made for her service, 
A\'ith all the engines wanton appetite 
Could mount to shake the fortress of her honour. 
Here, here is my assurance she holds out, 

^Kisses the picture. 
And is impregnable. 

Hon. What's that? 

Math. Her fair figure. 



8C. I. THE PICTUBB. 309 

Ladis. As I live^ an excellent fiiee ! 

Hon, You have seen a better. 

Ladis. I ever except yours:— nay, frown not, 
sweetest. 
The C3rprian queen, compared to you, in my 
Opinion, is a negro. As you order'd, 
I '11 see the soldiers paid ; and, in my absence. 
Pray you use your powerful arguments, to stay 
This gentleman in our service. 

Hon. I will do 
My parts. 

Ladis. On to the camp. 
^Exeunt Ladiblaus, Fsboiitand, Eubulvb, 
Baptibta, and CjMcers. 

Hon. I am full o£ thougntB, 
And something there is here I must ffiva fimn to, 
Though yet an embryon : [Aside."] You, signiors. 
Have no business with the soldier; quit the place. 
But be within call. 

[Exeunt Ubaloo and Ricabdo. 
You may perceive the king is no way tainted 
With the disease of jealousy, since he leaves me 
Thus private with you. 

Math. It were in him, madam, 
A sin unpardonable to distrust such porenessi, 
Though I were an Adonis. 

Hon. I presume 
He neither does nor dares : and yet the'slocy 
Delivered of you by the general. 
With your heroic courage, whidi sinks deeply 
Into a knowing woman's heart, besides 
Your promising presence, might beget some scruple 
In a meaner man ; hut more of this hereaf^. 
I '11 take another theme now, and conjure you 



310 THE PICTURE. ACT II. 

By the honours you have won, and by the love 
Sacred to your dear wife, to answer truly 
To what I shall demand. 

Math, You need not use 
Charms to this purpose, madam. 

Ho7i, Tell me, then. 
Being yourself assured 'tis not in man 
To sully with one spot the' immaculate whiteness 
Of yoiir wife's honour, if you have not, since 
The Gordian of your love was tied by marriage, 
Play'd false with her ? 

Moth. By the hopes of mercy, never. 

Hon, It may be, not frequenting the converse 
Of handsome ladies, you were never tempted. 
And so your faith 's untried yet. 

Math. I have been 
Received to the society of the best 
And fairest of our climate. 

Hon, Strange ! and do you think 
The earth can show no beauty that can drench 
In Lethe all remembrance of the favour 
You now bear to your own ? 

Math. Nature must find out 
Some other mould to fashion a new creature 
Fairer than her Pandora, ere I prove 
Guilty, or in my wishes or my thoughts. 
To my Sophia. 

Hon, Sir, consider better; 
Not one in our whole sex } 

Math. I am constant to 
Mv resolution. 

w 

Hon. But dare vou stand 
The opposition, and bind yourself 
'^y oath for the performance ? 



8C 1. THE PICTURB. 311 

Math, My faith else 
Had but a weak foundation. 

Hon. I take hold 
Upon your promise, and enjoin your stay 
For one month here. 

Math. I am caught ! [AMe. 

Hon, And if I do not 
Produce a lady^ in that time, that shall 
Make you confess your errors I submit 
Myself to any penalty you shall please 
To impose upon me : in the mean space, wzile 
To your chaste wife, acquaint her with your fbrtune: 
The jewels that were mine you may send to her, . . 
For better confirmation. 1 11 provide you 
Of trusty messengers : hut how jfar distant is she ? 

Math. A day's hard riding. 

Hon, There is no retiring ! 
I 'U bind you to your word. 

Math. Well, since there is 
No way to shun it, I will stand the haiard. 
And instantly make ready my despatch : 
Till then, I '11 leave your majesty. \JExU* 

Hon. How I burst 
With envy, that there lives, besides myielf. 
One fair and loyal woman ! 'twas the end 
Of my ambition to be recorded 
The only wonder of the age, and shall I 
Give way to a competitor ? Nay more. 
To add to my affliction, the assurances 
That I placed in my beauty have deceived me : 
I thought one gentle glance of mine could bring 
All hearts to my subjection ; but this stranger. 
Unmoved as rocks, contemns me. But I cannot 
Sit down so with mine hanoiir : I will gain 



312 THE PICTURE. ACT III. 

A double victory, by working him 

To my desire, and taint her m her honour^ 

Or lose myself : I have read that sometime poison 

Is useful. — To supplant her I 'U employ. 

With any cost, Ubaldo and Ricardo, 

Two noted courtiers of approved cunning; 

And in corrupting him, I will outgo 

Nero*s Poppsea : if he shut his ears 

Against my syren notes, I '11 boldly swear, 

Ulysses lives again ; or that I have found 

A frozen cynic ^, cold in spite of all 

Allurements ; one whom beauty cannot move. 

Nor softest blandishments entice to love. [£jt7. 



ACT III. SCENE I. 

Bohemia, A Space near the Entrance o/'Mathias' 

House* 

Enter Ubaldo, Ricardo, and a Guide. 

Guide. That *s her castle. 
Upon my certain knowledge. 

Ubald, Our horses held out 
To mv desire. I am afire to be at it. 

Ric. Take the jades for thy reward. Give me 
the cabinet : 
So ; leave us now. 

Guide. Good fortune to you, gallants ! {Exit, 

Uhald. Being joint agents, in a design of trust 
too, 

• A frozen cyniCy &C.] Ilonoria evidently means Stoic^ which 
Aight probably to be the reading of the text. The Cynics 
'-re never distmguished for temperance. 



SC. If. THB PICT17RB. 3.13 

For the service of the queen^ and our own pleasorey 
Let us proceed with judgment* 

Ric, Make jour approaches 
As I directed. 

Ubald, I need no instruction ; 
I work not on jour anviL Who have we here f 

Enter Hilario. 

Ric. Where dost thou dwell? 

Hil, Dwellj, sir ! mj dwelline is 
Yon goodly house ; the habitation 
Of the good knight Mathias. 

Ubald. We come from him^ 
With presents to his lady. 

HiL But^ are jou sure 
He is in health ? 

Ric, Never so well : conduct us 
To the lady. 

Hil, Though a poor snake, I will leap 
Out of my skin for joy : methinks already 
I 'm knuckle deep in the fleshpots. Fdlow* 

Ubald, A mad fellow. {Exeunt. 

SCENE IL 
A Room in Mathias' House. 

Enter Sophia and CoaiscA. 

Soph. Do not delude me. 

Coris. Indeed I do not, madam, 
I stood, as you commanded^ in the turret. 
Observing all that pass'd by ; and even now, 
I did dis^m a pair of cavaliers, 



314 THE PICTURE. ACT 111. 

For such their outside spoke them, with their guide. 
Dismounting from their horses; they said some- 
thing 
To our hungry centinel, that made him caper 
And frisk in the air for joy : and, to confirm this. 
See, madam, they 're in view. 

Enler Hilario, Ubaldo, and Ricardo. 

Hil. News from my lord ! 
Tidings of joy ! 

UbalcL Fair lady, since mine eyes 
Were never happy in so sweet an object. 
Without inquiry, I presume you are 
The lady of the house, and so salute you. 

Ilic* This letter, with these jewels, from your 
lord, 
Warrant my boldness, madam. 

[_Delivers a letter and a casket, 

Ubald, In being a servant 
To such rare beauty, you must needs deserve 
This courtesy from a stranger. [^Salutes Corisca. 

Ric. You are still 
Beforehand with me. Pretty one, I descend 
To take the height of your lip. [^Salutes Coris. 

Coris. These gentlemen 
Have had good breeding. 

Q/7^ the interim, Sophia reads the letter, 
and opens the casket. 

Soph. Heaven, in thy mercy, make me 
Thy tliankful handmaid for this boundless blessing 
In thy goodness shower'd upon me ! 

Ubald. I do not like 
This simple devotion in her ; it is seldom 
Practised among my mistresses. 



8C. II. THE PICTURE. 315 

Ric. Or mine. 
Would they kneel to I know not who, for the pos- 
session 
Of such inestimable wealth, before 
They thanked the bringers of it ? The poor lady 
Does want instruction ; but 1 '11 be her tutor, 
And read her another lesson. 

Soph, If I have 
Shown want of manners, gentlemen, in my slow- 
ness 
To pay the thanks I owe you for your travail. 
To do my lord and me, howe'er unworthy 
Of such a benefit, this noble favour. 
Impute it, in your clemency, to the excess 
Of joy that overwhelm'd me. 

Ric. She speaks well. 

Ubald, Polite and courtly. 

Soph. And howe'er it may 
Increase the offence, to trouble you with more 
Demands touching my lord, before I have 
Invited you to rest, such as the coarseness 
Of my poor house can offer; pray you connive 
On my weak tenderness, though I entreat 
To learn from you something he hath, it may be. 
In his letter left unmention'd. 

Ric. I can only 
Give you assurance that he is in health. 
Graced by the king and queen. 

Ubald. And in the court 
With admiration look'd on. 

Ric. You must therefore 
Put off these widow's garments, and appear 
Like to yourself. 



316 THE PICTURE. ACT III. 

Ubald. And entertain all pleasures 
Your fortune marks out for you. 

Ric, There are other 
Particular privacies, which on occasion 
I will deliver to you. 

Soph, You oblige me 
To your service ever. 

Ric. Good ! your service; mark that. 

Soph. In the mean time, by your good acceptance^ 
make 
My rustic entertainment relish of 
The curiousness of the court. 

Ubald, Your looks, sweet madam. 
Cannot but make each dish a feast. 

Soph. It shall be 
Such, in the freedom of my will to please you. 
I '11 show you the way : this is too great an honour. 
From such brave guests, to me so mean an hostess. 

[^Exeunt, 

SCENE III. 
Alba Regalis. An outer Room in the Palace, 

Enter Acantue, and Jour or Jive Servants with 

visors, 

Acan, You know your charge: give it action, 
and expect 
Rewards beyond your hopes. 

1 Serv. If we but eye them. 
They are ours, I warrant you. 

2 Serv, May we not ask why 
We arc put upon this } 



SC. III. THE PICTURE* 317 

Acan, Let that stop your mouth ; 

[^Gives them money. 
And learn more manners^ groom. 'Tis upon the 

hour 
In which they used to walk here : when you have 

them 
In your power, with violence carry them to the 

place 
Where I appointed ; there I will expect you : 
Be bold and careful. \^Ejnt, 

Enter Mathias and Baptista. 

1 Serv, These are they. 

2 Serv, Are you sure ? 

1 Serv, Am I sure I am myself? 

2 Serv, Seize on him strongly ; if he have but 

means 
To draw his sword, 'tis ten to one we smart for 't : 
Take all advantages. 

Maih. I cannot guess 
What her intents are ; but her carriage was 
As I but now related. 

Bapt. Your assurance 
In the constancy of your lady is the armour 
That must defend you. Where 's the picture } 

Math. Here, 
And no way alter d. 

Bapt, If she be not perfect. 
There is no truth in art. 

Math. By this, I hope, 
She hath received my letters. 

Bapt. Without question : 
These courtiers are rank riders when they are 
To visit a handsome lady. 



3 1 S THE PICTURE. ACT III. 

Malh, Lend me vour ear. 
One piece of her entertainment will require 
Your dearest privacy. 

1 Serv. Now they stand fair : 

Upon them. C^^^.^ rush forward. 

Math. Villains! 

1 Serv, Stop their mouths We come not 
To tn' vour valours. Kill him, if he offer 
To ope his mouth. We have you : 'tis in vain 
To make resistance. ]Mount them^ and away ! 

\_Exeutit with ^Matiiias and Baptista. 



SCENE IV. 

Another Room in the same. 

Enter Acantiie and the visored Servants, with 
Math IAS and Baptista blindfolded. 

Acaji. You liave done bravely. Lock this in that 
room, 
There let him ruminate ; I '11 anon unhood him : 

\_They carry o/f' Baptista. 
The other must stay here. As soon as I 
Have quit the place, give him the liberty 
And use of his eyes ; that done, disperse yourselves 
As urivatelv as vou can : but, on vour lives, 
Xo word of what hath pass'd. \_ExiU 

I Svrv. If I do, sell 
-Aly tongue to a tripe- wife. Come, unbind his arms : 
You are now at your own disclosure ; and however 
^V'o used you roughly, I hope you will find here 



8C. IV. I'HE PICTURE. 31 9 

Such entertainment as will give you cause 

To thank us for the service : and so I leave you. 

[^Exeunt Servants, 

Math. If I am in a prison, 'tis a neat one. 
What (Edipus can resolve this riddle ? Ha ! 
I never gave just cause to any man 
Basely to plot against my life. — But what is 
Become of my true friend ? for him I suffer 
More than myself. 

Acan, [wilhin,'^ Remove that idle fear ; 
He 's safe as you are. 

Math. Whosoe'er thou art, 
For him I thank thee. I cannot imagine 
Where I should be : though I have read the tales 
Of errant-knighthood; stuff d with the relations 
Of magical enchantments 5 yet I am not 
So sottishly credulous to believe the devil 
Hatli that way power. Ha ! music ? 

iMusic above. A song of pleasure^. 
A song too ! certainly, be it he or she 
That owes this voice, it hath not been acquainted 
With much affliction. Whosoe'er you are 
That do inhabit here, if you have bodies. 
And are not mere aerial forms, appear. 

Enter Honoria, masked* 

And make me know your end with me. Most 

strange I 
What have 1 conjured up.^ Sure, if this be 
A spirit, it is no damn'd one. What a shape 's here ! 

> From this stage direction^ it seems that no song was originally 
provided by the author. Indeed, it is a doubt with me whether 
most of these things were not supplied by the poet in waiting. 

— GlFFORD. 



320 THE PICTURE. ACT III. 

Then, with what majesty it moves ! If Juno 
Were now to keep her state among the gods^ 
And Hercules to he made again her guest^ 
She could not put on a more glorious habit^ 
Though her handmaid. Iris, lent her various colours, 
Or old Oceanus ravish'd from the deep 
All jewels shipwreck'd in it. As you have 
Thus far made known yourself, if that your face 
Have not too much divinity about it 
For mortal eyes to gaze on, perfect what 
You have begun, with wonder and amazement 
To my astonish'd senses. [Honoria unmiuksJ] 
How ! the queen ! . {^Kneels. 

Hon, Rise, sir, and hear my reasons in defence 
Of the rape (for so you may conceive) which I, 
By my instruments, made upon you. You, perhaps, 
IMay think what you have suffer d for my love 
Is a common practice with me ; but I call 
Those ever shining lamps and their great Maker 
As witnesses of my innocence : I ne'er look'd on 
A man but vour best self, on whom I ever 
(Except the king) vouchsafed an eye of favour. 

Math. The king, indeed, and only such a king, 
Deserves your rarities, madam ; for myself, 
I am a thing obscure, disfumish'd of 
All merit that can raise me higher than. 
In my most humble thankfulness for your bounty. 
To hazard my life for you ; and that way 
I am most ambitious. 

Hon. I desire no more 
Than what you promise. If you dare expose 
Your life, as you profess, to do me se^^'ice, 
How can it better be employ'd than in 
Preserving mine ? which only you can do. 



SC. IV. THE PICTURE. 321 

And must do with the danger of your own, 
A desperate danger too ! If private men 
Can brook no rivals in what they affect. 
But to the death pursue such as invade 
What law makes their inheritance, the king — 
To whom you know I am dearer than his crown, 
His health, his eyes, his after hopes, with all 
His present blessings — must fall on that man 
Like dreadful lightning that is won by prayers. 
Threats, or rewards, to ktain his bed or make 
His hoped-for issue doubtful. 

Math. If you aim 
At what I more than fear you do, the reasons 
Which you deliver should, in judgment, rather 
Deter me, than invite a grant with my 
Assured ruin. 

Hon, True ; if that you were 
Of a cold temper, one whom doubt or fear. 
In the most horrid forms they could put on, 
Might teach to be ingrateful. Your denial 
To me, that have deserved so much, is more. 
If it can have addition. 

Math* I know not 
What your commands are. 

Hon. If you will press me 
To speak in plainer language 

Math. Pray you, forbear; 
I would I did not understand too much ! 
Already, by your words, I am instructed 
To credit that which, not confirm'd by you. 
Had bred suspicion in me of untruth. 
Though an angel had afiBrm'd it. But suppose 
That, cloy'd with happiness, which is ever built 
On virtuous chastity, among ten thousand 

VOL. II. Y 



322 THE PICTURE. ACT III. 

Far apter to be wrought on, such as owe you 
Obedience, being your subjects, why should you 
Make choice of me, a stranger ? 

Hon. Though yet reason 
Was ne'er admitted in the court of love, 
I '11 yield you one unanswerable. As I urged 
In our last private conference, you have 
A pretty promising presence ; but there are 
Many, in limbs and feature, who may take 
That way the right-hand file of you : besides^ 
Your May of youth is past ; and that high valour. 
Set off with better fortune, which, it may be. 
Swells you above your bounds, is not the hodk. 
That hath caught me, good sir. I need no cham- 
pion 
With his sword to guard my honour or my beauty ; 
In both I can defend myself, and live 
My own protection. 

Math. If these advocates, 
The l)est that can plead for me, have no power. 
What can you find in me that may allure you ? 

Hon. You have a jewel of such matchless worth, 
As does disdain comparison, and darkens 
All that is rare in other men ; and that 
I must or win or lessen. 

Mnlh. You heap more 
^Vmazemcnt on me. What am I possess'd of 
That you can covet ? make me understand it. 
If it have a name. 

II an. Yes, an imagined one ; 
Hut is, in substance, nothing ; being a garment 
Worn out of fashion, and long since given o'er 
By the court and country : 'tis your loyalty 
A.nd constancy to your wife ; 'tis that I dote on. 



HC. IV. THE PICTUBB. 323 

And does deserve mj envj ; and tliat jewel> 
Or by fair play or foul, I must win from vou* 

Math. These are mere contraries. If you love 
me, madam^ 
For my constancy, why seek you to destroy it ? 
In my keeping it preserve me worth your favour ^ 
Or, if it be a jewel of that value. 
As you with Jabour'd rhetoric would persuade me. 
What can you stake against it ? 

Hon, A queen's fame. 
And equal honour. 

Math. So, whoever wins. 
Both shall be losers. 

Hon. That is that I aim at : 
Yet on the die I lay my youth, my beauty ; — 
Do you find them infectious, that you start. 
As frighted with their touch ? 

Math. Is it in man 
To resist such strong temptations ? 

Hon. He begins 
To waver. ^Atide. 

Math. Madam, as you are gracious. 
Grant this short night's deliberation to me; 
And, with the rising sun, from me you shall 
Receive full satisfaction. 

Hon. Though extremes 
Hate all delay, I will deny you nothing. 
This key will bring you to your friend ; jrou are 
safe both ; 

• In my keeping it preserve me worth your Javour,] The 
meaning is, ''If you love me for my constanqr, why do you 
geek to destroy it ? Why not rather, in allowinff me to keep 
it, suffer me to remain a proper object of your lundneM ?** — 

GiFFORD. 

y2 



OZ-k THE PICTURE. ACT III. 

And all things useful that could be prepared 
For one I love and honour^ wait upon you. 
Take council of your pillow, such a fortune 
As with affection*s swiftest wings flies to you. 
Will not be often tender'd. [^Exii, 

Math, How my blood 
Rebels ! I now could call her back — and yet 
There's something stays me: if the king had 

tender'd 
Such favours to my wife ; 'tis to be doubted 
They had not been refused : but, being a man, 
I should not yield first, or prove an example. 
For her defence, of frailty. By this, sans question. 
She 's tempted too ; and here I may examine 

\^Looks on the piclure* 
How she holds out. She 's still the same, the same 
Pure crystal rock of chastity. Perish all 
Allurements that may alter me ! rewards nor titles. 
Nor certain death from the refused queen. 
Shall shake my faith ; since I resolve to be 
Loyal to her, as she is true to me. ^Ejcit, 



SCENE V. 

Bohemia, A Gallery in Math i as' House, 

Enter Ubaldo and Ricardo. 

Uhald, What we spake on the voley* begins to 
work ; 
We have laid a good foundation.' 

> On the voky.'\ A literal translation of the French phrase 
ci la voice, which signifies at random^ or inconsiderately. -^M. 
Mason. 



SC. V. THE PICTURE. 325 

Ric, Build it up. 
Or else 'tis nothing : you have hy lot the Honour 
Of the first assault ; but, as it is condition'd. 
Observe the time proportion'd : I '11 not part with 
My share in the achievement ; when I whistle. 
Or hem, fall off. 

Enter Sophia. 

Ubald. She comes. Stand by, I '11 watdi 
My opportunity. ^The^ walk aside. 

Soph. I find myself 
Strangely distracted with the various stories. 
Now well, now ill, then doubtfully, by my guests 
Delivered of my lord : and, like poor hcgmxB . 
That in their dreams find treasure, by xSfiectioii 
Of a wounded fancy, make it questionable 
Whether they sleep or not ; yet, tickled with 
Such a fantastic hope of hapjnness. 
Wish they may never wake. In some such measure. 
Incredulous of what I see and touch. 
As 'twere a fading apparition, I 
Am still perplex'd, and troubled ; and when most 
Confirm'd 'tis true, a curious jeakmsv 
To be assured, by what means, and nom whom. 
Such a mass of wealth was first deserved, ihen 

gotten. 
Cunningly steals into me. I have practised, > 
For my certain resolution, with these courtiers. 
Promising private conference to either. 
And, at this hour : — if in search of the truth, 
I hear, or say, more than becomes my virtue, 
Forgive me, my Mathias. 

Ubald, Now I make in. — [Comes forward* 
Madam, as you commanded, I attaid 
Your pleasure. 



326 THE PICTURE. ACT III. 

Soph. I must thank you for the favour. 

Ubald. I am no ghostly father; yet, if you have 
Some scruples touching your lord, you would be 

resolved of, 
I am prepared. 

Soph. But will you take your oath. 
To answer truly ? 

Ubald, On thy fair hand, sweet lady, if you 
please : 
A vow I dare not break, it being a book 
I would gladly swear on. 

Soph. To spare, sir, that trouble, 
I '11 take your word, which, in a gentleman. 
Should be of equal value. — You would put, now, 
A foolish jealousy in my head, my lord 
Hath gotten a new mistress. 

Ubald. One ! a hundred ; 
But under seal I speak it : I presume 
TJl)on your silence, it being for your profit. 
Such a soldier and a courtier never came 
To Alba Regalis ; the ladies run mad for him. 
And there is such contention among them. 
Who shall engross him wholly, that the like 
Was never heard of. 

Soph. Are they handsome women ? 

I bald. Fie! no; coarse mammets. 

Ric. [^whistle.^,'] Sir, I must fetch you off. ^Aside. 

L bald. A business of import 
('alls me away ; but, that despatched, I will 
Be with you presently. \^fValks aside. 

Soph. There is something more 
In this than bare suspicion. 

Ric. [comes forward.'] Save you, lady ; 
Now you look like yourself! I have not look'd on 
A lady more complete, yet have seen a madam 



SC. V. THE PICTURE. 327 

Wear a garment of this fashion^ of the same stuff too^ 
One just of your dimensions: — Sat the wind there^ 
boy! 
Soph, What lady, sir ? 
Ric, Nay> nothing; and methinks 
I should know this ruby : very good ! 'tis the same. 
This chain of orient pearly and this diamond too^ 
Have been worn often^ — much good may they do you ! 
Before heeot them. 

Soph, Why, how were they gotten ? 
Rxc. Not in the field with his sword^ upon my 
life. QUaaldo kewu. 

Run the minutes so fast ? ^Astde."^ — Pray you^ ex- 
cuse my manners ; 
I left a letter in my chamber window. 
Which I would not have seen on any termi; fie 

on it. 
Forgetful as I am ! but 1 11 strai^t attend you. 

[ Walks aside. 
Soph, ^is is strange. His letters said these 
jewels were 
Presented him by the queen, as a reward 
For his good service, and the trunks of clothes, 
That follow'd them this last night, with haste made 

By his direction. 

Ubald, \_comes forward,"^ I was telling you 
Of wonders, madam. 

Soph, If you ore so skilful. 
Without premeditation answer me ; 
Know you this gown, and these rich jewels? 

Ubald, Heaven, 
How things will come out ! But that I should of- 
fend you. 



328 THE PICTURE. ACT III. 

And wrong my more than noble friend, your hus- 
band, 
(For we are sworn brothers,) in the discovery 
Of his nearest secrets, I could 

Soph. By the hope of favour 
That you have from me, out with it. 

Ubald. 'Tis a potent spell 
I can't resist : Why, I will tell you, madam. 
And to how many several women you are 
Beholding for your bravery. This was 
The wedding gown of Paulina, a wanton lady, 
Worn but a day, when she married old Gonzaga. 

Soph* O my poor heart ! 

Uljahl. And this resplendent chain 
Of pearl was a great widow's, that invited 
Your lord to a mask ; but how he came by it 
I know not. 

Soph. Perjured man ! 

Ubald. This diamond 
Was madam Acanthe's, given him for a song 
When the queen ask'd for 't. You 're happy in a 
husband. 

So2)h. I do commend him, sir; but pray you 
leave me 
A little to myself. 

Ubald. You may command 
Your servant, madam. — {^Walks aside,']-^She's 
stung unto the quick, lad. 

Ric. I did my part; if this potion work not, 
hang me ! 
Let her sleep as well as slie can to-night, to-morrow 
We '11 mount new batteries. 

L Ijald. And till then leave her. 

lE.veufit Ubaldo and Ricardo. 



8C. V. THE PICTURE. 329 

Soph, You Powers^ that take into your care the 

guard 
Of innocence^ aid me ! for I am a creature 
So forfeited to despair^ hope cannot fancy 
A ransom to redeem me. I begin 
To waver in my faith, and make it doubtful^ 
Whether the saints^ that were canonized for 
Their holiness of ]ife> sinn'd not in secret ; 
Since my Mathias is fallen from his virtue^ 
In such an open fashion.—- Was 't for this he left 

me^ 
And^ on a feign'd pretence^ for want of means 
To give me ornament ? — 
Suppose these men are false^ if he were true. 
Why stays he so long from me^ ^^8 made rich. 
And that the only reason why he Im me ? 
No^ he is lost ; and shall I wear the spoiLi 
And salaries of his treason ? they cleave to me. 
Like Nessus' poison'd shirt : no, in my rase, 
I '11 tear them off^ and from my body waw 
The venom with my tears. Have I no spleen, 
Nor anger of a woman ? shall he build 
Upon my ruins^ and I, unreveneed. 
Deplore his falsehood ? no ; wiu llie same trash 
For which he had dishonoured me, I '11 purchase 
A just revenge : I am not yet so much 
In debt to years> nor so mis-shaped, that all 
Should fly from my embraces : Chastity, 
Thou only art a name^ and I renounce thee ! 
I am now a servant to voluptuousness. 
Wantons of all degrees and fashions^ welcome ! 
You shall be entertain'd ; and, if I stray. 
Let him condemn himself, that led the way. 

[Exit. 



3C^0 THE PICTURE. ACT IV. 



ACT IV. SCENE I. 

Alba Regalis. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter Mate i as and Baptista. 

Bapt. We are in a desperate strait; there's no 

evasion. 
Nor hope left to come off, but by your yielding 
To the necessity; you must feign a grant 
To her violent passion, or 

Math. What, my Baptista? 

Bapt. We are but dead else. 

Math. Were the sword now heaved up. 
And my neck upon the block, I would not buy 
An hour's reprieve with the loss of faith and virtue. 
To be made immortal here. Art thou a scholar. 
Nay, almost without parallel, and yet fear 
To die, which is inevitable ! You may urge 
The many years that, by the course of nature. 
We may travel in this tedious pilgrimage. 
And hold it as a blessing ; as it is. 
When innocence is our guide : yet know, Baptista, 
Our virtues are preferr'd before our years, 
liy the great Judge: to die untainted in 
Our fame and reputation is the greatest; 
And to lose that, can we desire to live*? 
Or shall I be for perjury remember'd 
In a still living epitaph? no, Baptista, 

• ^ln(i to losr thaty can xcr desire to lix'C^] 
Kt propter vitam, vivcndi perderc causat, 

Juv. Sat. viii. 



8C. I. THE PICTURE. 331 

Since my Sophia will go to her grave 

Unspotted in her faith^ I '11 follow her 

With equal loyalty. [_Takes out the picture,'] But 

look on this^ 
Your own great work, your masterpiece, and then. 

She being still the same, teach me to alter I 

Ha ! sure I do not sleep ! or, if I dream. 
This is a terrible vision ! I will clear 
My eyesight ; perhaps melancholy makes me 
See that which is not. 

Bapt. It is too apparent. 
I grieve to look upon 't : besides the yellow. 
That does assure she 's tempted, there are lines 
Of a dark colour, that disperse themselves 
O'er every miniature of her face, and those 
Confirm 

Math, She is tum'd false ! 

Bapt. I must not say so. 
Yet, as a friend to truth, if you will have me 
Interpret it, — in her consent and wishes 
She 's false, but not in fact yet. 

Math, Fact, Baptista ! 
Make not yourself a partner to her looseness. 
In labouring to palliate what a visor 
Of impudence cannot cover. 

Bapt. Pray you, temper 
The violence of your passion. 

Math, In extremes 
Of this condition, can it be in man 
I'o use a moderation ? I am thrown 
From a steep rock headlong into a gulf 
Of misery, and find myself past hope 
In the same moment that I apprehend 
That I am falling : and this, the figure of 



332 THE PICTURE. ACT IV. 

]\Iy idol, few hours since, while she continued 
In her perfection, that was late a mirror. 
In which I saw miraculous shapes of duty. 
Staid manners, with all excellency a husband 
Could wish in a chaste wife, is on the sudden 
Turn'd to a magical glass, and does present 
Nothing but shame and horror. 

Bapt. You may yet. 
And 'tis the best foundation, build up comfort 
On your own goodness. 

Math. No, that hath undone me ; 
For now I hold my temperance a sin 
Worse than excess, and what was vice a virtue. 
Have I refused a queen, and such a queen. 
Whose ravishing beauties at the first sight had 

tempted 
A hermit from his beads, and changed his prayers 
To amorous sonnets, to preserve my faith 
Inviolate to thee, with the hazard of 
My death with torture, since she could inflict 
No less for my contempt ; and have I met 
Such a return from thee ! I will not curse thee. 
Nor, for thy falsehood, rail against the sex ; 
'Tis poor and common : 1 11 only, with wise men. 
Whisper unto myself, howe'er they seem. 
Nor present, nor past times, nor the age to come. 
Hath heretofore, can now, or ever shall. 
Produce one constant woman. 

Bapt. This is more 
Than the satirists wrote against them. 

Math. There 's no language 
Tliat can express the poison of these aspics. 
These weeping crocodiles, and all too little 
That hath been said against them. But I 'II mould 



8C. I. THE PICTURE. 333 

My thoughts into another form ; and, if 
She can outlive the report of what I have done. 
This hand, when next she comes within my reach. 
Shall he her executioner. 

Enter Honoria and Acanthb. 

Bapt. The queen, sir. 

Hon. Wait our command at distance :—f£d;tV 
Acanthe.] — Sir, you too have 
Free liberty to depart. 

Bapt, I know my manners. 
And thank you for the favour. ^Exii, 

Hon. Have you taken 
Good rest in your new lodgings ? I expect now 
Your resolute answer; but a^dse maturely 
Before I hear it. 

Math, Let my actions, madam. 
For no words can dilate my joy, in all 
You can command, with cheerfulness to serve you. 
Assure your highness; and, in sign of my 
Submission, and contrition for my error. 
My lips, that but the last night shunn'd the touch 
Of yours as poison, taught humility now. 
Thus on your robe, and that too mat an honour 
For such an undeserver, seal my duty. 
A cloudy mist of ignorance, equal to 
Cimmerian darkness, would not let me see then 
What now, with adoration and wonder. 
With reverence I look up to : but those fogs 
Dispersed and scattered by the powerful beams 
With which yourself, the^sun of all perfection. 
Vouchsafe to cure my blindness ; like a suppliant. 
As low as I can kneel, I humbly beg 
What you once pleased to tender. 



334 THE PICTURE. ACT IV. 

Hon. This is more 
Than I could hope ! [^Asider\ — What find you so 

attractive 
Upon my face in so short time to make 
This sudden metamorphosis ? Pray you rise. 
T' allay this fervour, 'twere good to remember 
The king, whose eyes and ears are every where ; 
With the danger too that follows, this discover'd. 

Math. Danger ! a bugbear, madam; let me but ride 
Like Phaeton in the chariot of your favour. 
And I contemn Jove's thunder. 

Hon. Pause a little : 
The bounties of the king, and, what weighs more, 
Your boasted constancy to your matchless wife. 
Should not so soon be shaken. 

Math. The whole fabric. 
When I but look on you, is in a moment 
O'crturn'd and ruin'd ; and, as rivers lose 
Their names when they areswallow'd by the ocean, 
In you alone all faculties of my soul 
Are wliolly taken up ; my wife and king. 
At the best, as things forgotten. 

Hon. Can this be } 
I have gain'd my end now. \^Aside. 

Math. Whereon muse you, madam? 

Hon. In my consideration what a nothing 
IVIan's constancv is. 

Math. Your beauties make it so 
In me, sweet lady. 

Hon. And it is my glory : I ere long 
M'ill visit you again ; and when I next 
-.Vppear, as ccmquer'd by it, slave-like wait 
On my triumphant l)eauty. [^Exil. 

Math. ^^ hat a change 



fee II. THE PICTURE. 335 

Is here beyond my fear ! What an angry frown^ 

In 8com^ at her departure^ she threw on me ! 

I am both ways lost ; storms of contempt and scorn 

Are ready to break on me, and all hope 

Of shelter doubtful. I can neither be 

Disloyal nor yet hone&t ; I stand guilty 

On either part : at the worsts Death will end all ; 

And he must be my judge to right my wrong, 

Since I have loved too much and lived too long.- -.*) 



SCENE II. 

Bohemia. A Court-yard in Mathias' Hoaue, wiih 
the windows of several apartments looking into ii. 

Enter Sophia^ with a book and a paper. 

Soph, Nor custom^ nor example^ nor vast numbers 
Of such as do offend^ make less the sin. 
For each particular crime a strict account 
Will be exacted ; and that comfort which 
The damn'd pretend^ fellows in misery^ 
Takes nothing from their torments : every one 
Must suffer, in himself^ the measure of 
His wickedness. If so, as I must grants 
It being unrefutable in reason, 
Howe'er my lord offend, it is no warrant 
For me to walk in his forbidden paths : 
The wounds of my feme can 't recover his ; 
And^ though I 've fed these courtiers with hopes, 
I am untainted ; and I trust my purity. 
And love to goodness for itself, nuide powerfnl. 
Though all they have allied prove true or false. 



336 THE PICTURE. ACT IV. 

Will be such exorcisms as shall command 
This fury, jealousy, from me. What I have 
Determined touching them I am resolved 
To put in execution. Within there ! 

Enter Hilario, Corisca, rvith other Servants, 

Where are my noble guests ? 

Hil. The elder, madam. 
Is drinking by himself to your ladyship's health 
In muskadine and eggs. 

Coris. The younger 
Prunes up himself most gaily ; to what purpose, 
I am ignorance itself. 

Soph. Continue so. \_Gives the servants the paper. 
Let those lodgings be prepared as this directs yon : 
And fail not in a circumstance, as you 
Respect my favour. 

1 Sew. We have our instructions. 

2 Serv. And punctually will follow them. 

[Exeunt Servants. 

Enter Ubaldo. 

nil. Here comes, madam, 
Tlie lord Ubaldo. 

Ubald. Pretty one, there 's gold 
To buy thee a new gown ;\_To Coris.] and there's 

for thee ; 
Grow fat, and fit for service. {_To Hil.] My better 
angel ! 
Soph. Follow my woman, she knows where to 
conduct you. 
And will serve you as your page. 
I 'bald. Excellent lady ! 

[^Exeunt Ubaldo and Corisca. 



8C. II. THE PICTURE. 337 



Enter Ricardo. 

Soph, Here comes my other suitor. 
Ric. Take purse and all. [^To Hilario. 

Hil, If this company would come often, I should 
make 
A pretty term on 't. 

Soph, Sirrah, be 't your care 
To attend this gentleman. 
Ric. Dear lady, stay not long. 
Soph. I may come too soon, sir. 
Hil. This is the way, sir. 

J[Exeunt Hilario and Ricardo. 
Soph. I was much toblame to hear their foul reports 
Touching my lord ; but I have studied for them 
A way for their recovery. 

[^A noise of clapping a door; Ubaldo ap^ 
pears at a window above, in his shirt. 
Ubald. What dost thou mean, wench } 
Why dost thou shut the door upon me ? Ha I 
My clothes are ta'en away too ! shall I starve here ? 
Is this my lodging? Here's nothing but fresh 

straw, 
A petticoat for a coverlet, and that torn too. 
And an old woman's biggin^ for a nightcap. 

Re-enter Corisca below, 

'Slight, 'tis a prison, or a pigsty. Ha ! 
The windows grated with iron I I cannot force 
them, 

> Biggin,'] a kind of close cap, which bound the forehead 
strongly. — ^Nares. 

VOL. II. Z 



33S THE PICTURE. ACT IV. 

And if I leap down here, I break my neck : 
I am betray'd. Rogues ! Villains ! let me out ; 
I am a lord, and that 's no common title^ 
And shall I be used thus ? 

Soph. Let him rave, he's fast; 
I '11 parley with him at leisure. 

RiCARDo appearing at a nindoTV with a great 
noise above, as fallen, 

JUc. Zounds ! have you trapdoors ? 

Soph, The other bird 's i' the cage too, let him 
flutter. 

Hie. Whither am I fallen? into hell ! 

Uhald, Who makes that noise, there ? 
Help me, if thou art a friend. 

liic. A friend ! I am where 
I cannot help myself ; let me see thy face. 

Ubald. How, Ricardo ! Prithee, throw me 
Thy cloak, if thou canst, to cover me ; I am almoi»t 
Frozen to death. 

lite. iNly cloak ! I 'ra in my shirt. 
As thou art, and here 's nothing for myself 
But a clown's cast-off suit. 

IJhaUL We are both undone. 
Prithee, roar a little — Madam ! 

lle-enter Hilario below. 

Uic. Lady of the house ! 
Vhald. Grooms of the chamber ! 
UiL\ (icntlewcmicn ! Milkmaids ! 
( l)(ild. Shall we l)e murder'd } 
Soph. No, but soundly punish'd. 
To vour deserts. 



'■f^ 



SC. II. THE PICTURE. 339 

Ric. You are not in earnest^ madam ? 

Soph, Judge as you iind^ and feel it ; and now 
hear 
What I irrevocably purpose to you. 
Being received as guests into my house^ 
And with all it aftbrded entertain'd^ 
You have forgot all hospitable duties ; 
And, with the defamation of my lord. 
Wrought on my woman weakness, in revenge 
Of his injuries, aa you fashion'd them to me. 
To yield my honour to your lawless love. 

HiL Mark that, poor fellows I 

Soph, And so far you have 
Transgress'd against the dignity of men. 
Who should, bound to it by virtue, still defend 
Chaste ladies' honours, that it was your trade 
To make them infamous : but you are caught 
In your own toils, like beasts, and, therefore, 

wretches, 
Hope not to find the usage of men from me : 
Such mercy you have forfeited, and shall suffer 
Like the most slavish women. 

Ubald, How will you use us ? 

Soph, Ease, and excess in feeding, made you 
wanton. 
A pleurisy of ill blood you must let out. 
By labour, and spare diet that way got too. 
Or perish for hunger. Reach him up that distaff 
With the flax upon it ; though no Omphale, 
Nor you a second Hercules, as I take it. 
As you spin well at my command, and please me. 
Your wages, in the coarsest bread and water. 
Shall be proportionable. 



z 



340 THE PICTURE. ACT IV. 

Ubald. I will starve first. 

Soph. That 's as you please. 

Ric. What will become of me now ? 

Sojjh, You shall have gentler work ; I have oft 

observed 

You were proud to show the fineness of your hands. 

And softness of your fingers ; you should reel well 

What he spins, if you give your mind to it, as I *11 

force you. 
Deliver him his materials. Now you know 
Your penance, fall to work ; hunger will teach you : 
And so, as slaves to sin, not me, I leave you. 

[^Ejceuni Sophia and Corisca. 

Ubald. I shall spin a fine thread out now ! 

Ric. I cannot look 
On these devices, but they put me in mind 
Of rope-makers. 

HiL Fellow, think of thy task. 
Forget such idle vanities. [£ji7. 

Ubald. I am faint. 
And must lie down, 

Ric. I am hungry too, and cold. 
O cursed women ! 

Ubald. Let us now to rest. 
But not o'ersleep ourselves, lest we fast to-morrow. 

[^Theif withdraw. 



SC. III. THE PICTUBE, 34l 



SCENE III. 

AU}a Regalis. A Room in ike Palace. 

Enter Ladislaus^ Honoria, Eubulus^ Fer- 
DiNANDj AcANTHE^ and Attendants. 

Hon. Now you know all^ sir^ with the motives 
why 
I forced him to my lodging. 

Ladis, I desire 
No more such trials^ hidy. 

Hon. I presume^ sir. 
You do not doubt my honour. 

Ladis. I would not ; 
But these are strange inducements. 

Hon, Sir, I proved 
What power dwells in this beauty you admire so ; 
And when you see how soon it hath transform'd him. 
And with what superstition he adores it^ 
Determine as you please. 

Ladis. I will look on 
This pageant ; but 

Hon, When you have seen and heard, sir. 
The passages which I myself discovered. 
And could have kept conceal'd, had I meant basely. 
Judge as you please. 

Ladis. Well, I *11 observe the issue. 

Eubu. How had you ta'en this, general, in your 
wife? 

Ferd, As a strange curiosity ; but queens 
Are privileged above subjects, and 'tis fit, sir. 

. lExeunL 



04^ THE PICTURE. ACT IV. 



SCENE IV. 

Another Room in the same, with a Gallery, 

Enter Mathias and Baptista. 

Bapt, You are much alter'd, sir, since the last 
night. 
When the queen left you, and look cheerfully. 
Your dulness quite blown over. 

Math. I have seen a vision 
This morning; makes it good' ; and never was 
In such security as at this instant. 
Fall what can fall : and when the queen appears. 
Whose shortest absence now is tedious to me. 
Observe the encounter. 

Enter Honoria. Ladislaus, Eubulus, Ferdi- 
nand, and AcANTHE, with others^ appear in the 
Gallery, 

Bapt, She already is 
Entered the lists. 

Math, And I prepared to meet her. 

Bapt. I know my duty, \jGoing, 

Hon, Not so, you may stay now. 
As a witness of our contract. 

Bapt, I obey 
In all things, madam, 

Hon. Where *s that reverence, 

» IMath. / have seen a vision 

This morning^ makes itgood."] Meaning that the picture had 
recovered its natural colour. This scene is inimitably beautif\il. 

— GiFFORD. 



SC. IV. THE PICTUBE. 343 

Or rather superstitious adoration^ 
Whicb^ captive-like, to my triumphant beauty 
You paid last night ? No humble knee, nor sign 
Of vassal duty ! sure this is the foot^ 
To whose proud cover^ and then happy in it. 
Your lips were glued; and that the neck then offer'd^ 
To witness your subjection^ to be trod on : 
Your certain loss of life in the king^s anger 
Was then too mean a price to buy my fiivour; 
And that false glow-worm fire of oonstancy 
To your wife, extinguish'd by a greater light 
Shot from our eyes ; — and tbAt, it may be, (being 
Too glorious to be look'd on,) hath deprived you 
Of speech and motion : but I will take off . 
A little from the splendour, and descend 
From my own height, and in your lowne« hear you 
Plead as a suppliant. 

Math, I do remember 
I once saw such a woman. 

Hon, How I 

Math. And then 
She did appear a most magnificent qneen. 
And, what's more, virtuous, though somewhat 

darken'd 
With pride, and self-opinion. 

Euhu, Call you this courtship? 

Math, And she was happy in a royal husband. 
Whom envy could not tax, unless it were 
For his too much indulgence to her humours. 

Euhu, Pray you, sir, observe that touch, 'tis to 
the purpose ; 
I like the play the better for 't. 

Math. And she lived 
Worthy her birth and fortune : you retain yet 



344 THE PICTURE. ACT IV. 

Some part of her angelical form ; but when 

Envy to the beauty of another woman^ 

Inferior to hers, one that she never 

Had seen, but in her picture, had dispersed 

Infection through her veins, and loyalty. 

Which a great queen, as she was, should have 

nourish'd. 
Grew odious to her 

Hon, I 'm thunderstruck. 

Math. In a moment. 
All that was gracious, great, and glorious in her. 
And won upon all hearts, like seeming shadows 
Wanting true substance, vanish'd ! 

Hon, How his reasons 
Work on my soul ! 

Math. Retire into yourself; 
Your own strengths, madam, strongly mann'd with 

virtue. 
And be but as you were, and there 's no office 
So base, beneath the slavery that men 
Impose on beasts, but I will gladly bow to. 
But as you play and juggle with a stranger^ 
Var}'ing your shapes like Thetis, though the 

beauties 
Of all that are by poets' raptures sainted 
Were now in you united, you should pass 
Pitied by me, perhaps, but not regarded. 

Etihii, If this take not, I am cheated. 

Math, To slip once. 
Is incident, and excused by human frailty ; 
But to fall ever, damnable. Our life is 
Like to this magic picture. While we run 
A ccmstant race in goodness, it retains 
The just proportion; but the journey being 



8C. IV. THE PICTUBE. 345 

Tedious^ and sweet temptation in the way^ 
That may in some degree divert us from 
The road that we put forth in, ere we end 
Our pilgrimage, it may, like this, turn yellow^ 
Or he with l£ickness clouded : hut when we 
Find we have gone astray^ and lahour to 
Return unto our never-failinff guide^ 
Virtue, contrition, with unfeigned teaxs^ 
The spots of vice wash'd off, will soon restore it 
To the first pureness. 

Hon, I am disenchanted : 
Mercy, O mercy, heavens ! ^Knedi* 

Ladis. I am ravish'd 
With what I have seen and heard* 

Ferd, Let us descend. 
And hear the rest helow. 

Euhu, This hath fallen out 
Beyond my expectation. ^They retire. 

Hon* How have I wander'd 
Out of the track of piety ! and misled 
By overweening pride, and flattery 
Of fawning sycophants, (the hane of greatness,) 
Could never meet till now a passenger 
That in his charity would set me right. 
Or stay me in my precipice to ruin. 
How ill have I retum'd your goodness to me ! 
The horror, in my thought oft, turns me marUe : 
But if it may he yet prevented 

Re-enter Ladislaus, Eudulvs, Febdinand, Acan- 
THE, and others, below, 

O sir. 
What can I do to show my sorrow, or 
With what hrow ask your pardon ? 



3 16 THE PICTURE. ACT IV. 

Ladis. Pray you, rise. 

Hon. Never, till you forgive me, and receive 
Unto your love and favour a changed woman : 
]\Iy state and pride tum'd to humility, henceforth 
Shall wait on your commands, and my obedience 
Stcer'd only by your will. 

Ladis. And that will prove 
A second and a better marriage to me. 
All is forgotten. 

Hon. Sir, I must not rise yet. 
Till, with a free confession of a crime 
Unknown to you yet, and a following suit. 
Which thus I beg, be granted. 

Ladis, I melt with you : 
'Tis pardon'd, and confirmed thus. [^Raises her, 

Hon. Know then, sir. 
In malice to this good knight's wife, I practised 
Ubaldo and Ricardo to corrupt her. 

Bapt. Thence grew the change of the picture. 

[^Aside. 

Hon. And how far 
They have prevailed, I am ignorant : now, if you, 

sir. 
For the honour of this good man, may be entreated 
To travel thither, it being but a day's journey. 
To fetch them oft' 

Ladis. We will put on to-night. 

Bapt, I, if you please, your harbinger. 

Ladis. I thank you. 
Let me embrace you in my arms ; your service 
Done on the Turk, compared with this, weighs 
nothing. 

Math. I am still your humble creature. 

^Mdis, ^ly true friend. 



ACT ▼• THE PICTUBE. 347 

Ferd. And so you are bound to hold him. 

Eubu. Such a plant 
Imported to your kingdom, and here grafted^ 
Would yield more fruit than all the idle weeds 
That suck up your rain of favour. 

Ladis. In my i^in 
I '11 not be wanting. Prepare for our journey. 
In act be my Honoria now, not name. 
And to all aftertimes preserve thy fame. [Exeunt. 

ACT V. SCENE I. 
Bohemia. A Hall in Mathias' Home, 

Enter Sophia, Corisca^ and Hilabio. 

Soph, Are they then so humble? 

HiL Hunger and hard labour 
Have tamed them, madam ; at the first they bel« 

low'd 
Like stags ta'en in a toil, and would not work 
For sullenness ; but when they found without it 
There was no eating, and that to starve to death 
Was much against their stomachs; by d^prees. 
Against their wills, they fell to it. 

Coris, And now feed on 
The little pittance you allow with gladness. 

Hil, I do remember that they stopp'd their noses 
At the sight of beef and mutton, as coarse feeding 
For their fine palates ; but now, their work being 

ended. 
They leap at a barley crust, and hold cheese-parings, 



348 THE PICTURE. ACT V. 

With a spoonful of pall*d wine pour'd in their 

water. 
For festival-exceedings *1 

Coris. When I examine 
]My spinster's work, he tremhles like a prentice^ 
And takes a box on the ear, when I spy faults 
And botches in his labour, as a favour 
From a curst mistress. 

Hil. The other, too, reels well 
For his time. 

"Enter a Servant, 

Soph, And 'tis but justice. — What's the bu- 
siness ? 
Serv. My lord's great friend, Signior Baptista, 
madam. 
Is newly lighted from his horse, with certain 
Assurance of my lord's arrival. 

Soph, How ! 
And 1 stand trifling here ? ^Exeunt, 

SCENE II. 
A Room in the same. 

Enter Sophia and Baptista. 

Soph, Was he jealous of me ? 
Bapt, There 's no perfect love 
Without some touch oft, madam. 

' Festlval-cdcecdings.] At the 3Iiddle Temple an addi- 
tional dish to the regular dinner is still called cxceedingM*^^ 
3Iason. 



8C. II. THE PICTURE. 349 

Soph. And my picture^ 
Made by your devilish art^ a spy upon 
My actions ! I ne'er sat to be drawn> 
Nor had you^ sir^ commission for't. 

Bapt. Excuse me ; 
At his earnest suit I did it. 

Soph. Very good : — 
Was I grown so cheap in his opinion of me ? 
Bapl. The prosperous events that crown his 
fortunes 
May qualify the offence. 

Soph. Good, the events 1 — 
The sanctuary fools and madmen fly to^ 
When their rash and desperate undertddngt thrive 

well: 
But good and wise men are directed by 
Grave counsels, and with such deliberation 
Proceed in their affairs, that chance has nothing 
To do with them : howsoe'er, take the pains, sir. 
To meet the honour (in the king and queen's 
Approaches to my house) that breaks upon me ; 
I will expect them with my best of care. 
Bapi, To entertain such royal guest s 
Soph, I know it ; 
Leave that to me, sir. ![^Exit Baptista.] What 

should move the queen. 
So* given to ease and pleasure, as fame speaks her. 
To such a journey ? or work on my lord 
To doubt my loyalty, nay, more, to take. 
For the resolution of his fears, a course 
That is by holy writ denied a christian ? 
'Twas impious in him ; and perhaps the welcome 
He hopes for in returning may deceive 

[^Trumpets scunded. 



3.i0 THE PICTURE. ACT V. 

His expectation. The trumpets speak 
Tlie king's arrival. Help a woman's wit now 
To make him know his faulty and my just anger ! 

[Exit. 



SCENE III. 

A Hall in the same. 

A Flourish. Enter Ladislaus, Ferdinand^ Eu- 
BULUS, Mathias, Bapfista, Honoria^ and 
AcAXTHE, with Attendants, 

Euhu, Your majesty must be weary. 

Hon. No, my lord; 
A willing mind makes a hard journey easy. 

Math. Not Jove, attended on by Hermes^ was 
More welcome to the cottage of Philemon 
And his poor Baucis, than your gracious self. 
Your matchless queen, and all your royal train, 
Are to your servant and his wife, 

Ladis, Where is she ? 

Hon. I long to see her as my now-loved rival. 

Math, Ha ! is my house tum'd 
To a wilderness ? nor wife nor servants ready. 
With all rites due to majesty, to receive 
Such unexpected blessings ! You assured me 
Of better preparation ; hath not 
The excess of joy transported her beyond 
Her understanding? 

Bapt. I now parted from her. 
And gave her your directions. 

MatJi. How shall I beg 
Vour majesties' patience ? sure my family's drunk. 



8C. III. THE PICTURS. 351 

Or by some witch, in envy of my g^ry^ 
A dead sleep thrown upon them. 

Enter Hilario afid ServanU, 

Serv. Sir. 

Math. But that 
The sacred presence of the king forbids it. 
My sword should make a massacre among yoa. 
Where is your mistress ? 

Hil, First, you are welcome home, sir : 
She says she 's sick, sir. 

Math, Sick at such a time ! 
It cannot be : though she were on her deathbed. 
And her spirit e'en now departed, here stand they 
Could call it back again, and in tliis honOQr 
Give her a second being. Bring me to her; 
I know not what to urge, or how to redeem 
This mortgage of her manners. 

[^Exeunt Mathias, Hilario, and Servants. 

Eubu, There 's no climate 
On the world, I think, where one jade's trick or 

other 
Reigns not in women. 

Ferd, You were ever bitter 
Against the sex. 

Ladis. This is very strange. 

Hon, Mean women 
Have their faults, as well as queens. 

Ladis. O, she appears now. 

Re-enter Mathias with Sophia ; Hilario 

foUowing. 

Math. The injury that you conceive I have done 
you 



6bZ THE PICTURE. ACT V. 

Dispute hereafter, and in your perverseness 
Wrong not yourself and me. 

Soph, I am past my childhood '^ 
And need no tutor. 

Math. This is the great ting, 
To whom I am engaged till death for all 
I stand possessed of. 

Soph. My humble roof is proud, sir. 
To be the canopy of so much greatness 
Set off with goodness. 

Ladis, My own praises flying 
In such pure air as your sweet breath, fair lady. 
Cannot but please me. 

Math. This is the queen of queens. 
In her magnificence to me. 

Soph. In my duty 
I kiss her highness' robe. 

Ho7i, You stoop too low 
To her whose lips would meet with yours. 

[^Kisses her. 

Soph. 'Tis your pleasure, madam. 
And not my proud ambition. — Do you hear, sir ? 
Without a magical picture, in the touch 
I find the print of your unfaithful kisses 
On the queen's lips. {^Aside to Mathias. 

Math. Upon your life be silent : — 
And now salute these lords. 

Soph. Since you will have me. 
You shall see I am experienced at the game. 
And can play it tightly.— You are a brave man, sir, 

QTo Ferdinand. 

* / am past my childhood. 

And need no tutor."] The pretty perverseness of Sophia is 
excellently managed in this short conference, and her breaking 
out at length highly natural and amusing.— Gifford. 



8C. III. THE PICTURB. 353 

And do deserve a free and hearty welcome : 

Be this the prologue to it. [^Kisses him. 

Math. You express not 
A matron's modesty in this holdness ; oh ! take up ^, 
Or you are disgraced for ever. {Aside to Soph. 

Soph. Would you have me 
Turn my cheek to them, as proud ladies use 
To their inferiors, as if they intended 
Some business should be whlroer^d in their ear. 
And not a salutation ? what I do, 
I will do freely: are there any more? 

Math. Forbear; you'll raise my anger to a 
height 
That will descend in fury. 

Soph. Why ? you know 
How to resolve yourself what my intents are. 
By the help of Mephostophilus*, and your picture : 
Pray you, look upon 't affain. I humbly thank 
The queen's great care ofme while you were absent. 
She knew how tedious 'twas for a young wife. 
And being for that time a kind of widow. 
To pass away her melancholy hours 
Without good company, and in charity, thereiwe. 
Provided for me : out of her own store, 
Sti^e cull'd the lords Ubaldo and Ricardo, 
To do me all good offices ; and as such 
Employ 'd by her, I hope I have received 
And entertain'd them. 

> Take up,'\ i. e. check yourself* 

3 Mep/iostophiiusj] L e. Baptitta. This is the name of a fifcnd, 
or famUiar spirit, in the History of Dr. Faostuay as well as in 
the play of that name, by Christopher Mallow. He is also 
mentioned by Shakspeare, JonsoD, Fletcher, and, indeed, by 
HiOst of our old draiBatirts.^-OirroRD. 

VOL. II. A A 



354 THE PICTUEE. ACT V. 

Math. Thou dost belie thyself: 
I know that in mv absence thou wert honest, 
Howerer now tum'd monster. 

Soph. The truth is. 
We did not deal, like you, in speculations 
On cheating pictures ; we knew shadows were 
No substances, and actual performance 
The best assurance. I will bring them hither. 
To make good in this presence so much for me. 
Some minutes space I beg your majesties' pardon.— 
You are moved now : — champ upon this bit a little. 
Anon you shall have another. Wait me, Hilarlo. 

[^Exeunt Sophia and Hilario. 

Ladis, How now ? tum'd statue, air ! 

Math. Fly, and fly quickly, 
From this cursed habitation, or this Grorgon 
Will make you all as I am. In her tongue 
3Iillions of adders hiss, and every hair 
Uix)n her wicked head a snake more dreadful. 
Than that Tisiphone threw on Athamas, 
Which in his madness forced him to dismember 
His proper issue. O that ever I 
Reposed my trust in magic, or believed 
Impossibilities ! or that charms had power 
To sink and search into the bottomless hell 
Of a false woman's heart ! 

Kubii. These are the fruits 
Of marriage ! an old bachelor as I am. 
And, what's more, will continue so, is not troubled 
With these fine vagaries. 

Ferd. Till you are resolved*, sir, 
Forsake not hope. 

> Re solved ^1 \. e. convinced. 



itC. III. THB PICTURK. 355 

Bap, Upon my life^ this is ' 
Dissimulatioii. 

Ladis. And it suits not with 
Your fortitude and wisdom^ to be thus 
Transported with your passion. 

Rc'enter Sophia^ Corisca^ and Hilario, wUh 
Ubaldo and Ricardo tit rags, and spmning and 
reeling, as before, 

Euhu, What have we here ? 

Soph, You must come on and show yonrselTes. 

Ubald, The king! 

Ric, And queen too ! would I weate as far under 
the earth 
As I am above it ! 

Ubald' Some poet will>> 
From this relation^ or in verse or prote» 
Or both together blended^ render us 
Ridiculous to all ages. 

Ladis, I remember 
This face, when it was in a better plight.: 
Are not you Ricardo ? 

Hon. And this thing, I take it. 
Was once Ubaldo. 

Ubald, I am now I know not what. 

Ric. We thank your majesty for employing us 
To this subtle Circe. 

Eubu. How, my lord! tum'd spinster ! 
Do you work by the day, or the great*? 

> Some jjoei rviU, Sec] There it something delightful in these 
anticipations of future (kme by g^reat minds. Thev^ the 
Howery spots in the poet*8 thorny way, whidi begoiUi'm weari. 
sonieness of his pilgrimage, anid in despite <? coldness and 
neglect, reconcile him to ms ftite.— GiFFORD. 

^ Greats] Le.the lump, thefkce^ 

A a2 



Ferd. Is your theorbo ^ 
Tum'd to a distaff, signior ? and your voice. 
With which you chanted, Room for a lusty gallani I 
Tuned to the note of Lachrymce^? 

Euhu, Prithee tell me. 
For I know thou *rt free, how oft, and to the pur- 
pose. 
You 've been merry with this lady. 

Ric. Never, never. 

Ladis, Howsoever, you should say so for your 
credit. 
Being the only court-bull. 

Ubald. O, that ever 
I saw this kicking heifer ! 

Soph. You see, madam. 
How I have cured your servants, and what favours 
They have won from me. The gentlemen have 

learnt 
Their several trades to live by, and paid nothing 
But cold and hunger for them ; and may now 
Set up for themselves, for here I give them over. 

^ Theorho.l This was a large lute for plajong a thorough 
bass, used by the Italians. 

^ Lachrymae f] This (as Sir John Hawkins informs us in 
bis History of Music) was the title of a musical work composed 
by John Doulaud, a celebrated lutanist in the time of King 
James I. The title of it at length is : — ** Lachrymae^ or seven 
Teares jfigured in seaven passionate Pavans, with divers other 
Pavans, Galiards, and Almans, set forth to the Lute, Viol, or 
Violin, in five Parts.'* To this performance, which was once 
exceedingly popular, allusions are found in most of our old 
dramatists. I do not know what the << seven passionate'* (L e. 
affecting) compositions were, which made up the bulk of this 
collection, but Mr. Gilchrist has been led to suppose that one of 
them wa^ the beautiful and pathetic Lamentation of Lady Ann 

BothwcU. — GiFFORD. 



8C. III. THE PICTURE. 357 

And now to you, sir ; why do you not again 
Peruse your picture, and take the advice 
Of your learned consort ? 

Math, I know not which way to entreat your 
pardon. 
Nor am I worthy of it. My Sophia, 
My best Sophia, here before the king. 
The queen, these lords, and all the lookers on, 
I do renounce my error, and embrace you. 
As the great example to all aftertimes. 
For such as would die chaste and noble wives. 
With reverence to imitate. 

Soph, Not so, sir ; 
I yet hold off. However I have purged 
My doubted innocence, the foul aspersions. 
In your unmanly doubts, cast on my honour. 
Cannot so soon be wash'd off. 

Euhu, Shall we have 
More jiggobobs yet ? 

Soph, When you went to the wars, 
I set no spy upon you, to observe 
Which way you wander'd, though our sex by nature 
Is subject to suspicions and fears ; 
My confidence in your loyalty freed me from them. 
But^ to deal, as you did, against your religion. 
With this enchanter, to survey my actions. 
Was more than woman's weakness ; therefore know. 
And 'tis my boon unto the king, I do 
Desire a separation from your bed; 
For I will spend the remnant of my life 
In prayer and meditation. 

Math, O take pity 
l^n my weak concQtion, or I am 
More wretched in your innocence, than if 



\ :• i.v. - ■ . 






ji ■ I '^— fir-i- puL lu^v^ -li-: 



.. -. <", LZii s: : v zr^ i'l-: tv: suii ulr. 

; . .v>v--^v ,v :ij bittri fTr)mg the pes:. 
- ■ v v.Ki:«,ij,v ■ X.?. suppose I parflon 



8C. III. THE PICTURE. 359 

What 's pa8t> who can secure me he 'U be firee 
From jealousy hereafter ? 

Math, I will be 
My own security: ^o, ride where you please; 
Feasts revel^ banquet^ and make choice with whom^ 
I '11 set no watch upon you ; and> for proof of it, 
This cursed picture I surrender up 
To a consuming fire. 

BapL As I abjure 
The practice of my art. 

Soph, Upon these terms 
I am reconciled ; and, for these that hare paid 
The price of their folly, I desire your mercy. 

Ladis, At your request they lutTe it 

Ubald, Hane all trades now ! 

Ric, I will nnd a new one, and that is^ to live 
honest. 

Ladis. So, all ends in peace now. 
And^ to all married men, be this a caution. 
Which they should duly tender as their life. 
Neither to dote too much, nor doubt a wife. 

[Exeunt. 



SELECTIONS 

FHpM THE 

ROMAN ACTOR. 



The Romak Actor.] This tragedy, whidi was lieeoaed 
by Sir H. Herbert, Oct 11, 1626, and printed in 1609, was a 
great favourite with its author. Massiiifler speaks of it as the 
^^ most perfect birth of bin Minerva ;*' bnty IUdb many other 
authors, he appears to have made a false estimato of his own 
productions, and to haif e pretored tfiat on wfaldi be had exodsed 
the greatest labour and displayed most ingenuity in handling 
an unwifcldy subject, before others which had flowed moio 
readily from his pen, snd where the hi^ipy didee of his stoiy 
presented him with fewer difficahiea Id be ontoaunt^ 

The main plot of the Roman Aotor, sl^^ and nnpleaiing 
in itself, is earned on by a succession of dramatic repreaentations, 
performed in the court of Domitian. These interludes destroy 
the unity of the work ; they give it the air of a collection of de- 
tached scenes : and, though very skilfully devised and artificially 
introduced, have the effect of distracting the attention from tble 
main incident, and dissipate the interest they were intended to 
heighten. 

The following selections, which are from the best parts of the 
play, will, it is apprehended, be oonsidered quite svflkicnt to 
satisfy the curiosity of the reader. 



DRAMATIS PERSONiE. 



Paris, the Roman actor, 

Lattnus, > , 

-Bsopus, J />%"■'• 

Aretinus. 

Senators. 

Lictors, 



SELECTIONS 

FROM THE 

ROMAN ACTOR 



THE ROMAN ACTOR'S DEFENCE. 

The Theatre. 

Enter Paris, Latinus, and jEsopus. 

Msop. What do we act to-day ? 

Lat. Agave's frenzy. 
With Pentheus* bloody end. 

Par, It skills not what*; 
The times are dull, and all that we receive 
Will hardly satisfy the day's expense. 
The Greeks, to whom we owe the first invention 
Both of the buskin'd scene and humble sock. 
That reign in every noble family. 
Declaim against us : and our theatre. 
Great Pompey's work, that hath given full delight 
Both to the eye and ear of fifty thousand 
Spectators in one day, as if it were 
Some unknown desert, or great Rome unpeopled. 
Is quite forsaken. 

> SkilU notn\ U e. mitten not. 



366 SELECTIONS FROM 

Lat. Pleasures of worse natures 
Are gladly entertained. 

Par. Yet they grudge us. 
That with delight join profit, and endeavour 
To build their minds up fair, and on the stage 
Decipher to the life what honours wait 
On good and glorious actions, and the shame 
That treads upon the heels of vice, the salary 
Of six sestertii^, 

JEsop. For the profit, Paris, 
And mercenary gain, they are things beneath us ; 
Since, while you hold your grace and power with 

Caesar, 
We, from your bounty, find a large supply. 
Nor can one thought of want ever approach us. 

Tar. Our aim is glory, and to leave our names 
To aftertime. 

Lat. And, would they give us leave. 
There ends all our ambition. 

/Esop. We have enemies. 
And great ones too, I fear. 'Tis given out lately, 
The consul Aretinus, Caesar's spy, 
Said at his table, ere a month expired. 
For being gall'd in our last comedy. 
He 'd silence us for ever. 

Par. I expect 
No favour from him ; my strong Aventine* is. 
That great Domitian, whom we oft have cheer d 
In his most sullen moods, will once return. 
Who can repair, with ease, the consul's ruins. 

» Six sestertii,^ about eleven pence. 

« Aicntine^] i. e. defence. The Aventine was a post of great 
strength. It is used in the same metaphorical sens? by others 
of our old dramatists. — Gifford. 



THE ROMAN ACTOR. S67 

Lat. 'Tis frequent^ in the city, he hath subdued 
The Catti and the Daci> and, ere long, 
The second time will enter Rome in triumph. 

Enter two Lictors, 

Par. Jove hasten it? With us? — I now believe 
The consul's threats, ^sopus. 

1 Lict. You are summon'd 
To appear to-day in senate. 

2 Lict And there to answer 
What shall be urged against you. 

Par, We obey you. 
Nay, droop not, fellows ; innocence should be bold. 
We, that have personated in the scene 
The ancient heroes, and the falls'of princes, 
With loud applause ; beinff to act ourselves, 
Must do it with undaunted confidence. 
Whatever our sentence be, think 'tis in sport : 
And, though condemn'd, let 's hear it without sorrow. 
As if we were to live again to-morrow. 

I Lict, 'Tis spoken like yoursdf. 

Lat, I am glad the state is 
So free from matters of more weight and trouble. 
That it has vacant time to look on us. 

Par, That reverend place, in which the affairs 
of kings 
And provinces were determined, to descend 
To the censure of a bitter word, or jest, 
Dropp'd from a poet's pen ! 
[_Exeutit Lictors, Paris, Latinus, and Msopvfi. 

' Frequent,] i. c. common, currently rvporied. 



368 SELECTIONS FR03I 

The Senate^house. 

Aretinus and Senators discovered seated,. Pabis^ 
Latixus, and -Ssopus, led in hy the Liciors, 

Aret. Fathers conscript *, may this our meeting be 
Happy to Caesar and the commonwealth ! 

Lid. Silence! 

Aret. The purpose of this frequent* senate 
Is, first, to give thanks to the gods of Rome^ 
That for the propagation of the empire^ 
Vouchsafe us one to govern it, like themselves. 
In height of courage, depth of understanding. 
And all those virtues, and remarkable graces. 
Which make a prince most eminent, our Domitian 
Transcends the ancient Romans : I can never 
Bring his praise to a period. 'Tis then most tit 
That we, who to the father of our country. 
Like thankful sons, stand bound to pay true service 
For all those blessings that he showers upon us, 
Should not connive, and see his government 
Depraved and scandalized by meaner men, 
That to his favour and indulgence owe 
Themselves and being. 

Par, Now he points at us. 

Aret. Cite Paris, the tragedian. 

Par. Here. 

Aret. Stand forth. 
In thee, as being the chief of thy profession, 
I do accuse the quality' of treason. 
As libellers against the state and Cssar. 

> Fathers conscript^ &c.] This was the customary form of 
opening the debate. 

'^ Frequent,'] i. e. crowled. 

a Quality^] i. e. calling, condition of life. 



THE ROMAN ACTOK. 369 

Par, Mere accusations are not proofs, my lord : 
In what are we delinquents? 

Aret, You are they 
That search into the secrets of the time. 
And, under feign'd names, on the stage, present 
Actions not to be touched at ; and traduce 
Persons of rank and quality of both sexes^t 
And, with satirical and bitter jests. 
Make even the senators ridiculous 
To the plebeians. 

Par, If I free not myself. 
And, in myself, the rest of my profession. 
From these false imputations, and prove 
That they make that a libel which the poetr. 
Writ for a comedy, so acted too ; 
It is but justice that we undergo 
The heaviest censure. 

Arel. Are you on the stage> 
You talk so boldly ? 

Par. The whole world being one> 
This place is not exempted ; and I ani 
So confident in the justice of our cause. 
That I could wish Caesar, in whose great name 
All kings are comprehended, sat as judge. 
To hear our plea, and then determine of us.— ■ 
If, to express a man sold to his passions. 
Wasting the treasure of his time and fortunes 
In wanton dalliance, and to what sad end 
A wretch that *8 so given over does arrive at ; 
Deterring careless youth, by his example. 
From such loose courses can deserve reproof; 
Why are not all your golden principles. 
Writ down by grave philosophers to instruct us 

VOL. II. 9 B. 



370 SELECTIONS FROM 

To choose fair virtue for our- guide^ not pleasure^ 
Condemned unto the fire ? 

1 Sen. There's spirit in this. 

Par, Or if desire of honour was the base 
On which the building of the Roman empire 
Was raised up to this height ; if, to inflame 
The noble vouth with an ambitious heat 
T' endure the frosts of danger, nay, of death. 
To be thought worthy the triumphal wreath 
By glorious undertakings, may deserve 
Reward, or favour from the commonwealth ; 
Actors may put in for as large a share 
As all the sects of the philosophers : 
They with cold precepts* (perhaps seldom read) 
Deliver, what an honourable thing 
The active virtue is : but does that fire 
The blood, or swell the veins \vith emulation. 
To be both good and great, equal to that 
Which is presented on our theatres ? 
Let a good actor, in a lofty scene. 
Show great Alcides honour'd in the sweat 
Of his twelve labours; or a bold Camillus, 
Forbidding Rome to be redeem'd with gold 

^ Thei/ with cold precepts^ &c.] This is judiciously ex. 

pandcd from Horace:— 

Scfftiliis irritant animot, demista per aurcm^ 
Qitam qua sunt ocuUt suhjecta fidelihus^ ct qua 
Ipse sibi tradit spectator. 

The reader will discover several classical allusions in the en. 

suing spei'ch, and, indeed, in every part of this drama: these J 

have not always pointed out; though I would observe, in jus. 

tice to .Masvinger, that they are commonly made with skill and 

etiU't, ar.d without that affectation of literature elsewhere so 

no:iccable.— GiFFOKD. 



THE ROMAN ACTOR. 371 

From the insulting Gauls ; or Scipio^ 
After his victories, imposing tribute 
On conquer'd Carthage : if done to the life. 
As if they saw their dangers, and their glories. 
And did partake with them in their rewards. 
All that have any spark of Roman in them. 
The slothful arts laid by, contend to be 
Like those they see presented. 

2 Sen, He has put 
The consuls to their whisper. 

Par. But, 'tis urged 
That we corrupt youth, and traduce superiors. 
When do we bring a vice upon the stage. 
That does go off unpunished ? Do we teach. 
By the success of wicked undertakings. 
Others to tread in their forbidden steps .f^ 
We show no arts of Lydian panderism, 
Corinthian poisons, Persian flatteries. 
But mulcted so in the conclusion, that 
Even those spectators that were so inclined. 
Go home changed men. And for traducing such 
That are above us, publishing to the world 
Their secret crimes, we are as innocent 
As such as are bom dumb. When we present 
An heir, that does conspire against the life 
Of his dear parent, numbering every hour 
He lives, as tedious to him ; if there be. 
Among the auditors, one whose conscience tells him 
He is of the same mould, — we cannot help it. 
Or, bringing on the stage a loose adulteress. 
That does maintain the riotous expense 
Of her licentious paramour, yet suffers 
The lawful pledges of a former bed 

B B'2 



372 SELECTIONS FROM 



To Starve the while for hunger ; if a matron. 

However great in fortune, birth, or titles. 

Guilty of such a foul unnatural sin. 

Cry out, 'Tis writ for me, — we cannot help it. 

Or, when a covetous man's express'd, whose wealth 

Arithmetic cannot number, and whose lordships 

A falcon in one day cannot fly over ; 

Yet he so sordid in his mind, so griping. 

As not to afford himself the necessaries 

To maintain life ; if a patrician, 

(Though honour'd with a consulship,) find himself 

Touch'd to the quick in this, — we cannot help it. 

Or, when we show a j udge that is corrupt. 

And will give up his sentence, as he favours 

The person, not the cause ; saving the guilty. 

If of his faction, and as oft condemning 

The innocent, out of particular spleen j 

If any in this reverend assembly. 

Nay, even yourself, my lord, that are the image 

Of absent Caesar, feel something in your bosom 

That puts you in remembrance of things past. 

Or things intended, — 'tis not in us to help it. 

I have said, my lord : and now, as you find cause. 

Or censure us, or free us with applause — 

Lat. Well pleaded, on my life ! I never saw him 
Act an orator's part before. 

JEsop. We might have given 
Ten double fees to Regulus, and yet 
Our cause deliver'd worse. Qi4 shout within. 

Arel, What shout is that .^ 

3 Sen. Caesar, our lord, married to conquest, is 
Return'd in triumph. 

FuL Let 's all haste ta meet him. 



THE R03IAN ACTOR. 373 

Aret. Break up the court ; we will reserve to him 
The censure of this cause. 

AIL Long life to Ceesar ! ^Exeunt. 

THE EPISODE OF PHILARGUS. 

PERSONS, 

• DoMiTiANus C^sah. Philabous. 

Pabis. Pakthenius. 

^sopus. domitia. 

Lax IN us. Attendants. 

A State Room in the Palace, 
Enter Philargus in rags, and Partuenius. 

PhiL My son to tutor me ! Know your obedience^ 
And question not my will. 

Parth. Sir, were I one. 
Whom want compell'd to wish a full possession 
Of what is yours ; or had I ever number'd ' 
Your years, or thought you lived too long, with 

reason 
You then might nourish ill opinions of me : 
Or did the suit that I prefer to you 
Concern myself, and aim*d not at your good. 
You might deny, and I sit down with patience. 
And after never press you. 

Phil. In the name of Pluto, 
What wouldst thou have me do? 

Parth, Right to yourself; 

> Numbered your years.\ This was accounted a high degree 
of unnaturalness and impiety among all nations : patriot iii' 
quirere in annos is reckoned by Ovid among the prominent 
causes which provoked Jupiter to destroy the old world by a 
deluge. — GiFFOHD. 



374 SELECTIONS FROSf 

Or suffer me to do it. Can you imagine 

This nasty hat^ this tatter'd cloak, rent shoe. 

This sordid linen^ can become the master 

Of your fair fortunes ? whose superfluous means, 

Tiiough I were burthensome, could clothe you in 

The costliest Persian silks, studded with jewels^ 

The spoils of provinces, and every day 

Fresh change of Tyrian purple. • 

Phil. Out upon thee ! 
Mv monies in my coffers melt to hear thee. 
Purple ! hence, prodigal ! Shall I make my mercer 
Or tailor heir, or see my jeweller purchase? 
No, I hate pride. 

Parth, Yet decency* would do well. 
Though, for your outside, you will not be alter'd^ 
Let me prevail so far yet, as to win you 
Not to deny your body nourishment ; 
Neither to think you 've feasted, when 'tis cramm'd 
With mouldy barley-bread, onions and Iceks^ 
And the drink of bondmen, water. 

Phil. Wouldst thou have me 
Be an Apicius, or a LucuUus, 
And riot out my state in curious sauces ? 
Wise nature with a little is contented ; 
And, following her, my guide, I cannot err. 

Parth. But you destroy her in your want of care 
(I blush to see, and speak it) to maintain her 
In perfect health and vigour ; when you sufier. 
Frighted with the charge of physic, rheums, catarrhs, 
Tl?e scurf, ache in your bones, to grow upon you. 
Ami hasten on your fate with too much sparing : 
\Vhcn a cheap purge, a vomit, and good diet, 
^lay lengthen it. Give me but leave to send 
Tht' omiKjror's doctor to you. 



THE ROBIAN ACTOR. 375 

Phil. 1 11 be borne first. 
Half rotten, to the tire that must consume me ! 
No ; I 'U not lessen my dear golden heap. 
Which, every hour increasing, does renew 
My youth and vigour ; but, if lessened, then. 
Then my poor heart-strings crack. Let me enjoy 

it. 
And brood o'er't, while I live, it being my life. 
My soul, my all : but when I turn to dust. 
And part from what is more esteem'd, by me, 
Than all the gods Rome's thousand altars smoke to. 
Inherit thou my adoration of it. 
And, like me, serve my idol. [^Exit. 

Parik. What a strange torture 
Is avarice to itself ! what man, that looks on 
Such a penurious spectacle, but must 
Know what the fable meant of Tantalus, 
Or the ass whose back is crack'd with curious viands. 
Yet feeds on thistles. Some course I must take. 
To make my father know what cruelty 
He uses on himself. 

Enter Paris. 

Par. Sir, withyour pardon, 
I make bold to inquire the emperor's pleasure ; 
Foi, being by him commanded to attend, 
Your favour may instruct us what 's his will 
Shall be this night presented. 

Partk. My loved Paris, 
Without my intercession, you well know. 
You may make your own approaches, since his ear 
To you is ever open. 

Par, I acknowledge 
The grace he pleases to confer upon mcx 



376 SELECTIONS FROM 

Which^ I may say without a boasts was never 
Employ'd to wrong the innocent^ or to incezue 
His fury. 

Parth. 'Tis confess'd : many men owe yoa 
For provinces they ne'er hoped for ; and their lives. 
Forfeited to his anger : — ^you being absent, 
I could say more. 

Par. You still are my good patron ; 
And, lay it in my fortune to deserve it. 
You should perceive the poorest of your clients 
To his best abilities thankful. 

Parth. I believe so. 
JMet you my father ? 

Par. Yes, sir, with much grief. 
To see him as he is. Can nothing work him 
To be himself? 

Parth, O, Paris, 'tis a weight 
Sits heavy here ; and could this right hand's loss 
Remove it, it should off: but he is deaf 
To all persuasion. 

Par, Sir, with your pardon, 
I '11 offer my advice : I once observed. 
In a tragedy of ours, in which a murder 
Was acted to the life, a guilty hearer. 
Forced by the terror of a wounded conscience. 
To make discovery of that which torture 
Could not wring from him. Nor can it appear 
Like an impossibility, but that 
Your father, looking on a covetous man 
Presented on the stage, as in a mirror, 
iMay sec his own deformity, and loathe it. 
Now, could you but persuade the emperor 
To sec a comedy we have, that 's styled 
The Cure of Avarice, and to command 



THE ROMAN ACTOB. 377 

Your father to be a spectator of it. 
He shall be so anatomized in the scene. 
And see himself so personated, the baseness 
Of a self-torturing miserable wretch 
Truly described, that I much hope the object 
Will work compunction in him. 

Parlh. There 's your fee ; 
I ne'er bought better counsel. Be you in readiness, 
I will effect the rest. 

Par. Sir, when you please; 
We '11 be prepared to enter. — Sir, the emperor. 

{Exit. 

Enter Casar, Domitia, and Attendants. 

f Parthenius kneeling, whispers Cjbsar. 

Coss. Thy suit is granted, 
Whate'er it be, Parthenius, for thy service 

Done to Augusta. Only so? a trifle: 

Command him hither. If the comedy fail 
To cure him, I will minister something to him 
That shall instruct him to forget his gold. 
And think upon himself. 

Parih, May it succeed well. 
Since my intents are pious ! ^Exit, 

Cces. [to Domitia,^ Thus, love, I seat you 
By Cesar's side, commanding these, that once 
Were the adored glories of the time. 
To witness to the world they are your vassals. 
At your feet to attend you. 

Dom. 'Tis your pleasure. 
And not my pride. And yet, when I consider 
That I am yours, all duties they can pay 
I do receive as circunstances due 
To her you please to honour. 



378 SELECTIONS FROM 

Re-enter Parthenius and Philargus. 

Parth. Cesar's will 
Commands you hither^ nor must you sainsay it. 

Phil. Lose time to see an interlude ! must I pay^ 
too. 
For my vexation ? 

Parlh. Not in the court : 
It is the emperor's charge. 

Phil, I shall endure 
My torment then the hetter. 

CcBs, Can it be 
This sordid thing, Parthenius, is thy father ? 
No actor can express him : I had held 
The fiction for impossible in the scene. 
Had I not seen the substance. — Sirrah, sit stiUj 
And give attention ; if you but nod. 
You sleep for ever. — Let them spare the prologue, 
And all the ceremonies proper to ourself. 
And come to the last act — there, where the cure 
By the doctor is made perfect. Begin there. 

Enter Paris, like a doctor of phasic, and Mbovxjb : 
Latinus is brought forth asleep in a chair, a key 

in his mouth. 

-^sop. master doctor, he is past recovery; 
A lethargy hath seized him ; and, however 
His sleep resemble death, his watchful care 
To guard that treasure he dares make no use of, 
Works strongly in his soul. 

Par. What 's that he holds 
So fast between his teeth? 

-^sop. The key that opens 
His iron chests, cramm'd with accursed gold. 



THE ROMAN ACTOR. 379 

Rusty with long imprisonment. There *s no duty 
In me, his son, nor confidence in friends, 
That can persuade him to deliver up 
That to the trust of any, 

Phil, He is the wiser: 
We were fashion'd in one mould. 

iBsop. He eats with it; 
And when devotion calls him to the temple 
Of Mammon^, whom, of all the gods, he kneels to, 
That held thus still, his orisons are paid: 
Nor will he, though the wealth of Rome were pawned 
For the restoring oft, for one short hour 
Be won to part with it, 

Phil StiU, stiU myself! 
And if like me he love his gold^ no pawn 
Is good security. 

Par. Ill try if I can force i t 
It will not be. His avaricious mind. 
Like men in rivers drown d, make him gripe fast. 
To his last gasp, what he in life held dearest; 
And, if that it were possible in nature. 
Would carry it with him to the other world, 

Phil, As I would do to hell^ rather than leave it. 

-^sop. Is he not dead? • 

Par. Long since to all good actions, 
Or to himself, or others, for which wise men 
Desire to live. You may with safety pinch him. 
Or under his nails stick needles, yet he stirs not; 
Anxious fear to lose what his soul dotes on. 
Renders his flesh insensible. We must use 
Some means to rouse the sleeping faculties 

> Of Mammon, &c.] There seems a want of judgment in the 
introduction of Mammon (a deity unknown to the Romans^, 
when Plutus would have served the turn as welL— jGiFro]ii>» 



380 SELECTIONS FROM 

Of his mind; there lies the lethargy. Take a trumpet, 
And blow it into his ears: — 'tis to no purpose: 
The roaring noise of thunder cannot wake him: — 
Andyet despair not; I have one trick left yet, 

JEsoip. What is it? 

Par. / will cause a fearful dream 
To steal into his fancy, and disturb it 
With the horror it brings with it, and so free 
His bodys organs. But if this should fail, 

£A chest brought in. 
I'll give him o'er. So; with all violence 
Rend ope this iron chest, for here his life lies 
Bound up in fetters, and in the defence 
Of what he values higher, 'twill return. 
And fill each vein and artery, — Louder yet! 
— >*7Y9 open, and already he begins 
To stir; mark with what trouble. 

[Latinus stretches himtelf. 

Phil. As you are Caesar^ 
Defend this honesty thrifty man ! they are thieves. 
And come to rob him. 

Parth. Peace ! the emperor frowns. 

Par. So; now pour out the bags upon the table ^ 
Remove his jewels, and his bonds, — Again, 
Ring a second golden peal. His eyes are open; 
He stares as he had seen Medusa's head, 
And were tum'd marble. — Once more, 

Lat. Murder! murder! 
They come to murder me. My son in the plot? 
Thou worse than parricide ! if it be death 
To strike thy father's body, can all tortures 
The Furies in hell practise be sufficient 
For thee, that dost assassinate my soul? — 
My gold! my bonds! my jewels! dost thou envy 



THE ROMAN ACTOR. 381 

My glad possession of them for a day; 
Extinguishing the taper of my life 
Gmsmned unto the snuff? 

Par. Seem not to mind him, 

Lat. Have I, to leave thee rich, denied myself 
The joys of human being; scraped and hoarded 
A mass of treasure, which had Solon seen. 
The Lydian Crcesus had appear d to him 
Poor as the beggar Irus? And yet I, 
Solicitous to increase it, when my entrails 
Were clemm'd^ with keeping a perpetual fast, 
Was deaf to their loud windy cries, as fearing. 
Should I disburse one penny to their use, 
My heir might curse me. And, to savj expense 
In outward ornamentSy I did expose 
My naked body to the winter s cold. 
And summers scorching heat: nay, when diseases 
Grew thick upon me, ayid a little cost 
Had purchased my recovery, I chose rather 
To have my ashes closed up in my urn, 
By hasting on my fate, than to diminish 
The gold my prodigal son, while I am living. 
Carelessly scatters. 

JEaop, Would you'd despatch and die once'^! 
Your ghost should feel in hell, that is my slave 
Which was your tnaster. 

Phil. Out upon thee, varlet ! 

Par. And what then follows all your carke and 
caring, 

* Clemm'd,] L e. thrunk up with hunger^ to at to cling tO' 
gether, 

* Once,] L e. once fir alL The word is often so used by 
Massinger and his contemporaries. 



382 SELECTIONS FROM 

And self-affliction? When your starved trunk is 

Turnd to forgotten dust, this hopeful youth 

Scorns at your monument, never remembering 

How much for him you suffer d; and then tells^ 

To the compamons of his wanton riots. 

The hell you did endure on earth, to leave him 

Large means to be an epicure, and to feast 

His senses all at once, a happiness 

You never granted to yourself. Your gold, then. 

Got with vexation, and preserved with trouble. 

Maintains a ruffian and licentious crew 

That quaff damnations to your memory. 

For living so long here. 

Lat. It will be so; I see it — 
O, that I could redeem the time that's past! 
I would live and die like myself; and make true use 
Of what my industry purchased. 

Par. Covetous men, 
Having one foot in the grave, lament so ever: 
But grant that I by art could yet recover 
Your desperate sickness, lengthen out your life 
A dozen of years; as I restore your body 
To perfect health, will you with care endeavour 
To rectify your mind ? 

Lat. / should so live then. 
As neither my heir should liavejust cause to think 
I lived too long, for being close -handed to him. 
Or cruel to myself 

Par. Have your desires. 
Phoebus assisting me, I will repair 
The ruind building of your health; and think not 
You have a son that hates you ; the truth is. 
This means, with his consent, I practised on you 



THE ROMAN ACTOR. 383 

To this good end: it being a device 
In you to show the Cure of Avarice. 

\_Excunt Paris, Latinus, and iBsoPUS. 

PhiL An old fool, to be gull'd thus ! had he died 
As I resolve to do, not to be alter'd^ 
It had gone off twanging. 

Cos, How approve you, sweetest. 
Of the matter and the actors ? 

Dom. For the subject ^ 
I like it not ; it was filch'd out of Horace. 
^Nay, I have read the poets. 

C<E8. To your rest, love ; 
There is a business that I must despatch^ 
And I will straight be with you. 

[Exeunt Domitia and her Attendants. 

Parth, Now, my dread sir. 
Endeavour to prevail. 

C(BS. One way or other 
We '11 cure him, never doubt it. Now, Philargus, 
Thou wretched thing, hast thou seen thy sordid 
baseness, 
Lnd but observed what a contemptible creature 
i covetous miser is ? Dost thou in thyself 
^eel true compunction, with a resolution 
To be a new man? 

Phil. This crazed body 's Caisar's ; 
But for my mind 

CiES. Trifle not with my anger. 
Canst thou make good use of what was now pre- 
sented ; 

» Dom. For Ihe suhjcct^ 

J like it not ; it reus JiklCd out of Horace.] I difFer from 
Domitia. There is uncommon spirit and beauty in this little 
interlude. The outline indeed, as the lady observes, is from 
Horace; but it is filled up with a masterly pcndL — Giffobd. 



384 SELECTIONS FROM THE ROMAN ACTOR. 

And imitate^ in thy sudden change of life. 
The miserable rich man, that expressed 
What thou art to the life ? 

Phil. Pray you, give me leave 
To die as I have Hved. I must not part with 
My gold ; it is my life : I am past cure. 

C(BS. No ; by Minerva, thou shalt never more 
Feel the least touch of avarice. Take him hence. 
And hang him instantly. If there be gold in hell. 
Enjoy it: — ^thine here, and thy life together. 
Is forfeited. 

Phil. Was I sent for to this purpose ? 

Parth. Mercy for all my service ; Caesar, mercy ! 

C{BS. Should Jove plead for him, 'tis resolved he 
dies. 
And he that speaks one syllable to dissuade me ; 
And therefore tempt me not. It is but justice: 
Since such as wilfully would hourly die, 
JNIust tax themselves, and not my cruelty. 

{Exeunt. 



END or VOL. II. 



LONDON 

PRIN'TBD BY TIIO.UAa DAVI80H« WHITSraiAM. 



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